


Kin

by acme146



Series: Fading Scars [24]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood Family, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Fading Scars Verse, Found Family, Multi, Wizarding Wars, relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-02-28 00:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 33,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13259457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acme146/pseuds/acme146
Summary: Character explorations in the 'Fading Scars' Verse within the immediate family (including but not limited to blood relatives, found family, teachers-who-don't-see-themselves-as-family, questionable inclusions, and several of the OC romantic interests introduced in 'Lay Here in My Arms'). The companion to this set, 'Kith', will post separately.





	1. Chasing Dragons (Charlie Weasley)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, welcome! This collection was meant to be 'short and sweet' headcanons, and has morphed into entire character studies, because this is apparently how I roll. If you want 'short and sweet and also painful occasionally', check out @harryjamesheadcanons on tumblr (or annegirlblythe on ao3).  
> Up first is a popular request: Mr. Charlie Weasley.

Charlie Weasley always defied expectations.

He wasn’t the daughter his mother expected; he wasn’t the son who would follow his father to the Ministry. His parents were never disappointed in him, but they were a little bit confused by his decisions. That was especially true when he was at Hogwarts and doing so well at Quidditch some professional scouts came to see him play. “You could play for England, Charlie,” they said. “You could name your price.”

But Charlie had a different path in mind. He didn’t want to work in England, in Quidditch or anything else. He didn’t want to marry Nymphadora Tonks (to her great relief), even though they did really well together and got into scrapes and promised to take care of each other’s children. No, he wanted to get far away from a world where he didn’t understand himself.

He’d spent every moment he wasn’t in class or at the Quidditch Pitch with Hagrid, running after the groundskeeper and hearing about everything to do with animals. The best day of his life was his sixteenth birthday, when Hagrid, beaming with delight and awe, invited him to his hut, because Newt Scamander had come to visit the Forbidden Forest’s unicorn population. Charlie hung on the naturalist’s every word, and walked away late at night with a signed copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , and an invitation to Romania the next summer to see a dragon preserve.

The first time Charlie stepped through the gates and saw a Chinese Fireball playfully wrestling a Welsh Green, he knew he’d come home at last.

Here nobody cared that he was a Weasley, only that he loved his family. Nobody cared that he was choosing a faraway home, they just helped him through the homesickness. Nobody cared that he was running to find himself, only gave him support as he worked it out.

The first time Charlie heard the word asexual, he understood everything.

He wrote long, cheerful letters home, one for every sibling. Sometimes Fred and George would try to trick him, responding to each other’s letters, but Charlie always knew.

After he met Harry Potter, Harry Potter who didn’t attack the mother dragon, just tricked her (which kept her pretty calm), Charlie wondered if he should write to him too. Ron’s letters were full of him, and all his other siblings talked about him too. Fred was particularly proud of the ‘specky scrawny git’, and encouraged Charlie to write.

But Voldemort returned, and Charlie got his first letter from Albus Dumbledore, suggesting that Harry needed to stay focused on survival. Charlie didn’t agree, but when his mother wrote in code to promise that Harry was being looked after, he swallowed his concerns.

Then the war came, and Charlie wasn’t eight this time, and he knew everything that was going on. He wanted to come home now, wanted to protect his family, but there was no way to protect them all. The Weasleys were scattered to the winds, fighting battles on their own, and it would be a miracle if the home fire would keep burning. All he could do was work internationally, try to make sure people who escaped found safe places, and pray.

Dora Tonks-Lupin was the only one he knew was safe. They couldn’t send owls, but the Romanian wizards had given Charlie a tablet he could write on and the person who had the other tablet could see it years ago as a gift, and Dora still had it. (Years later, his niece Roxanne would explain that this was largely how email worked).

Dora was pregnant—imagine it, pregnant. Charlie worried for her, his Hufflepuff friend who loved so strongly. She wrote daily, talking about all the bits and pieces of pregnancy and news. And when Charlie found out that the baby was due in April, he started making plans to return.

He got back in May, bringing with him as many witches and wizards as he could find to fight Voldemort. Charlie wanted to rush to Dora’s side, to see her little son, but there was no time. The moment they landed, they got word that a battle was starting at Hogwarts.

When Charlie and his forces landed at the edge of the castle grounds, Slughorn was there to meet them. He couldn’t tell them much; they had to focus on getting through the wards. But his eyes were heavy with grief.

Then they got in, and it was a blur of movement and fighting, and Charlie tried to count red heads—he saw his mother kill Bellatrix Lestrange—and then Harry was there, and Voldemort was gone.

And for one moment, Charlie was swept up in the joy of that moment, of seeing Voldemort dead and gone, and his parents were there, and his brothers and his baby sister, all grown up now, and Harry and Hermione…

And then Charlie counted heads. He took one look at George, and he knew.

He didn’t cry when he saw Fred, not at first. His little brother smiled in death, just like he used to smile in his sleep. But Fred’s hand was cold, and he didn’t speak when George fell silent.

Charlie turned to look around, wanting to get all the heartache over at once, to see them all. And his tear-blurred eyes fell on Tonks and Lupin, lying hand in hand not far away.

Charlie was the one who found out how they were killed, who had done it. He kept asking until he found out that Dolohov took Remus Lupin out at last. And Dora had found him, had crouched over him to protect his body from Fenrir Greyback, and she hadn’t seen Bellatrix Lestrange.

Charlie didn’t stay with his family that night. He sat in the Great Hall until sunset, holding George tight, watching Fred be still, so still, for the first time. But after sunset, he stood.

“I’ll be back,” he promised. And he left.

He found his way to Andromeda Tonks’ house, and heard the wailing of a baby. Teddy cried when Charlie held him, but Charlie didn’t mind; he was crying too. He sat with Andromeda Tonks in a house gone quiet without Ted and Dora, rocking an infant orphan.

Charlie found out that Harry was Teddy’s other godfather, and accepted that. His path was still dragons, and he couldn’t take the child so far away from Andromeda; it would kill her. But Teddy became another correspondent, even when the child was far too little to read. It didn’t matter—Charlie loved writing letters, and he’d lost a few of his addressees.

There were soon more, little babies Charlie saw four or five times a year at first, but he wrote to them all, once a week. It soon took up two nights a week, writing these letters, but it was how he stayed connected to his family.

Not all of his nieces and nephews wrote back as regularly, and some rarely wrote at all. But Charlie did have his constants—James, Molly, Rose, Teddy, and Lou. And he got one letter from each of his niblings about some secret, something they were confused about that they didn’t—or couldn’t—tell their family in Britain. Charlie soothed James and Rose about asexuality, guarded Molly’s girlfriend’s prophecy, promised that Lou could be perfectly happy without romantic love, wrote to Teddy or Maia, depending on how the letter was signed. For the others he encouraged schemes, supported dreams, offered advice and comfort, and promised each and every one of them that no matter what, Uncle Charlie was only a Portkey away.

And the day that Hermione wrote to ask if Hugo and his friend could come and see the dragons, even if his friend Ricky was a Muggle, Charlie took a Portkey immediately.

All his life he’d wanted to share dragons with his family, to find someone else whose heart beat for them the way his did. And he had a feeling from the way Hermione wrote that this kid was going to be family sooner or later.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next story I will post will actually be in Kith, so stay tuned for that. We find out what happened to Lavender Brown, and what she made happen after the war.  
> Cheers and Happy New Year (wow I haven't posted since laaaaaaaaast year),  
> Acme


	2. Father's Wisdom (Arthur Weasley)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today we're looking at one of my favourite parents in the Harry Potter series...and how he gives the world to his family by tricking the rest of it. Arthur Weasley, everybody!

Arthur Weasley wasn’t a stupid man. Nor was he naïve, overly-trusting, or irresponsible, the way many perceived him.

Arthur Weasley, in fact, was very wise indeed.

His wisdom at home showed in his dedication to being the very best husband and father he could be. He delighted in his children, supported his wife as best they could, and worked very hard to make sure his family could be proud of the man he was. Arthur’s childhood had been lonely: a bitter mother, an absent father, and two brothers far above him in age. His family, he determined, would have warmth and light and love, a comfortable house, and all his children would be able to count on him. He learned patience, practiced compassion, and made sure life was fair, always deferring to Molly when he had no opinion rather than leaving the child in question confused.

But it was at work that Arthur showed his real wisdom, only no one ever saw it.

He knew the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department wasn’t taken seriously. Fudge was inclined to see Muggles as adorable, helpless creatures (the same way he saw foreigners), so Arthur was given few resources and even fewer opportunities to advance. Those above him in Muggle Relations were bored and uninspired at best, actively disdainful of Muggles at worst.

                So Arthur built an optimistic, cheerful, slightly bumbling reputation,  and talked so much about his children that no one could possibly think that he was dangerous. That way they wouldn’t get rid of him, and he could keep working against the families who’d gotten away with so much during the First Wizarding War, work away at a system that didn’t value anything or anyone that was different.

It wasn’t all an act, of course. No great deception could be. Arthur was fascinated by the Muggle world, and how much more intelligent their solutions were to problems. He loved his children dearly, and kept pictures of them in his office. He added to them diligently as other people came into their lives; he had a row of Charlie’s dragons decorating his filing cabinet, and a shy picture of Harry and Hermione went right between Ron and Ginny.

(Later, Arthur would call that foresight).

He slipped a few times at work, most especially when he lost his temper, but he kept it pretty well in check. That made him invaluable when Voldemort returned, first under Fudge, then Scrimgeour. It killed him, watching his children suffer and fight, to see them touched by darkness and not be able to comfort them. It was hard to balance the line between father and worker, especially with Percy (his pride and joy, the boy who’d spat in his face and called him a disappointment), especially when the Ministry was taken over.

To his shock, Arthur remained on. His work was virtually non-existent, and what little he had involved purging Muggleborn names from Ministry history. A ridiculous job, but Arthur did it. Well, he tried his best, but for some reason he kept mixing up which documents were to be kept and which were to be burned. And copied. And distributed.

The Death Eaters just laughed. “Well, of course he’s fucking up. Blood traitor’s worried about his precious babies!”

And he was, he really was. Arthur was terrified, and every time he ‘lost’ a file he wondered if this would be it, if this was the time his children would suffer for his mistakes, if his wife would be left alone to worry.

The only time it came close, ironically, he was reporting to Lucius Malfoy.

Malfoy looked over his documents and called him ten kinds of horrible names, but when he met Arthur’s eyes, they both recognized each other for what they were—enemies, certainly, on different sides of the war, but still fathers. And both, in their own way, trapped in Hell.

Malfoy signed off on the documents’ destruction, and hid them before Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur reported to Malfoy for the rest of the war. When it ended, the first thing he did was go to Lucius’ office and retrieve dozens of files, hidden in the bookshelves.

He never liked Lucius Malfoy, and never quite forgave him, but he didn’t protest when Harry told him, in confidence, that he wanted to make a deal to spare Lucius the worst punishment. Harry argued that Lucius and Narcissa, as bad as they were, would do better free, suffering the loss of their wealth and forced to work for the community.

Arthur agreed.

In the happier years after the war, Arthur didn’t need as much wisdom at work. Muggle Relations became an important division, first in the clean up and then in the work of understanding of why the Death Eaters had become so powerful. Arthur headed a division of witches and wizards, working on everything from incorporating Muggle history into classes to helping to reconstruct the records of wizards and witches born to Muggle parents during Voldemort’s year of power.

It was a good thing that he didn’t need as much there, because with an ever-expanding family, Arthur’s children needed his wisdom more than ever. It was harder now, with one less face at the table, but Arthur did his best, welcomed his grandchildren with open arms and ears, and settled into the role of grandfather with a sigh of relief.

And his greatest joy came the day Lucy insisted that she wanted to bring Muggle technology into the wizarding world, and asked him to help her.

Arthur still wanted a flying car.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone liked this one! I've always thought Arthur had a depth to him that was hinted at but never really explored.  
> So I explored it. Because that's what I do with hints.  
> I'm not sure why this one was marked as complete--we've got dozens of Kin people left to go!  
> (And for me to write).  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	3. Exquisite (Audrey Kelly Weasley)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Audrey has always enjoyed the finer things in life, and she's always been willing to work for them.

Audrey loved politics because it was all about understanding people’s motives.

It was like being a detective all the time—who’s involved? Who’s involved that isn’t obvious? What can be done to solve the problem? What can be done to solve the problem in a way that makes people happy?

Audrey thrived on this kind of puzzle. That’s why she was in Ravenclaw, though many whispered that she should have been in Slytherin. And perhaps she should have been, but her encounter with a Slytherin prefect on the platform cemented her opinion of Slytherins before she’d even gotten on the Hogwarts Express.

Perhaps that was why she fell in love with Percy so quickly; she recognized the denied Slytherin in him too. They were both so fiercely ambitious, they enjoyed their sharp tongues, and they would do whatever it took to protect their families.

Audrey felt that even more strongly when she became a mother. She knew her girls weren’t like either of their parents—Molly’s fears were so very Gryffindor, her loyalty so Hufflepuff, and Lucy…well, Lucy was a Ravenclaw determined to be a Gryffindor, and would use Slytherin tactics to do so.

Audrey understood the deeper natures of each House. That didn’t mean she thought that any person could be summed up in one House.

She stood protective over her girls until they had their own claws, and then withdrew, content to watch, easing their paths when she could. Molly’s leadership made her heart warm, and Lucy’s antics made her proud. She was happy that she was their mother.

But she wanted more, she wanted to be in charge, and that came when she ran for Minister.

Knowing her husband, they talked about it first. Percy was clearly torn, but he kissed her and promised that she could count on him always. Audrey was delighted, and she rewarded that help by making him head of the International Department. She needed an excellent second in command, after all, and who better than Percy, the man she knew best?

The other quality she shared with her husband was an appreciation of the finer things in life. Audrey bought jewelry for herself long before she ever dated, she looked for good clothes and well-made furniture, and she drank fine, cold white wine. Some nights she would sit and listen to comedy shows with an icy glass of Pinot Grigio and fresh strawberries from her mother-in-law’s garden. Things didn’t have to be expensive to be exquisite, she always told her daughters. But when they were expensive, she was grateful that the Minster’s salary was so good. Her family would have nothing but the best.

Audrey’s time as Minister came at a time of crisis. This was partially brought on by her own daughter and her father-in-law, who were campaigning for a change in Wizard-Muggle interactions and relations, and partially because she was the first foreign-born Minister. Her family had left Hong Kong when she was three, but apparently this afforded her an ‘outsider’ status. At first Audrey resented it—educated at Hogwarts, a British citizen, married into the _Weasleys_ for Heaven’s sake—but then she started to see the potential. If she was the ‘first’, everything she did would be considered risqué, so why not engage in the projects she held dear to her heart? Why not start creating more work opportunities, and change health care, and ensure that lower-income families still had access to lovely, useful things?

So with her husband’s support and her daughters’ futures in her hands, Audrey plunged into the crisis.

It was time to play detective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! Since Audrey has no canon information, this was particularly fun; I wanted to figure out what sort of woman would appeal to Percy and, more importantly, the power she could have on her own.   
> I should have a major update about my plans for fanfiction in the next couple of months up on my tumblr by Saturday, so keep an eye out if you're interested!   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	4. Always a Twin (George Weasley)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George changes after Fred's death. He makes sure that Fred does too.

George never forgot Fred.

Not that anyone else in his family did, of course. A place was set for Fred at every holiday, even when it was George’s grandchildren setting the table.

But the others began to put Fred as part of the past. He was a loss, a memory, a remembered joke, a fond smile.

George didn’t do that.

For the rest of his life, Fred was beside him, if only in his mind. He let his brother change, adapt as the years went on; to being an uncle, to seeing their friends mature and age…and it had nothing to do with madness or grief.

He just wanted to recognize Fred when they reunited. Because of all of them except Harry, he’d been the closest to death. There were years of depression at school he’d never spoken about to anyone except Fred (it killed him when he realized that his son had inherited those bad times), long nights of staring at nothing, when even Fred’s best jokes didn’t work. He saw the Veil in those nights, and never stepped through. But he knew it.

And when he thought about his brother on those nights when it was Angelina there, not Fred, he could almost reach out to him. The other half of his soul, just out of reach, still aware, still there.

Only Harry (and later Fiona) understood why this didn’t scare or madden George. He was already used to feeling connected to someone.

And it helped him, more than anything else, to keep living.

Because he would see Fred again, and he didn’t want to disappoint his brother.

That connection to the Veil changed the direction of the store just a bit. Sure, there were all the pranks, all the joke toys, everything they’d ever dreamt of, but there were other parts of the store. There were other toys that helped people deal with their hurts, soothe the worst edges of memories, and most importantly, help to make everyone laugh.

There was nothing meanspirited about these products, and they took longer to make. There might be four or five new ones a year. But George and Ron and Seamus made sure they kept coming, because the longer they lived the more they learned about how trauma shifted.

It took a lot of effort to keep laughter alive in wounded homes and hearts, but as George told his children, ‘finding the funny’ was his job.

And he succeeded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was sad to write. I hope the next one will be happier (I have a bunch started so we'll see). Tomorrow is February, so I will begin my planned fanfiction publishing. There will be sporadic updates to this story and Kith though, so please subscribe, because they could happen any day!  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	5. Passion to Passions (Oliver Wood)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver Wood finds that his great passion has led to more great passions.

Some people wondered if Oliver was driven by an over-zealous father or mother into being so dedicated to Quidditch. Those same people wondered if Oliver continued the tradition with Abby.

But they didn’t know Oliver. Neither of his parents played Quidditch; in fact, his mother couldn’t stand to fly, Flooing absolutely everywhere.

Oliver was just a very passionate person, and at the age of five found his passion and sank his whole life into it.

The only friends he ever had at Hogwarts were his Quidditch team and Professor McGonagall, who wasn’t really a friend but a teacher/person-who-made him-stop-practicing, therefore occasionally an enemy. He was civil to others, but he didn’t understand people who didn’t love Quidditch very well at all, so it was hard to make friends.

Playing professionally was his dream, and the fact that he achieved it delighted him beyond words. It was strange to not be captain after three years, but it was kind of relaxing. And he didn’t have to deal with people griping at him about practice schedules, because he wasn’t the one making them.

The Captain, Adelaide Summers, was a trans woman who took absolutely no nonsense from anyone. Her practice schedules were more brutal than Oliver’s—even he found it tiring. But it was _Quidditch,_ and he loved it, so tiring was fine. Everything was fine.

One afternoon Oliver was resting after practicing by himself for a few hours, when Adelaide poked her head into his room.

“Wood, want to go a few rounds?”

Delighted, Oliver grabbed his gear, ignoring the ache in his knee, and hurried to catch up with Adelaide. They spent two happy hours with her trying to  score on him from any number of ways, including when she told him to only fly upside down.

When they finally landed, Oliver winced. He was going to need to see the team’s mediwitch, _again._

“Bad leg?” Adelaide asked.

“Just a bit sore.”

Adelaide stopped in her tracks. “Was it sore before we started?”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts, Oliver. Have you done this before?”

“Pushed through soreness? Of course! We’re dedicated to this team, it doesn’t matter the conditions.”

To his surprise, Adelaide didn’t keep shouting at him. Instead, she looked him in the eye very seriously.

“Oliver, Quidditch is important, and I know that it’s important to you. But training with injuries can be really dangerous. If your body is telling you that something is wrong, listen to it.”

Oliver nodded uncertainly. “But what if I miss practice?”

“I’d rather that, because it means you’re taking care of yourself. No one else on the team does that, because they’ve been here longer and I’ve kicked their arses about it. Just like I’m kicking yours now. Don’t throw yourself away, Oliver. Not for a game.”

“Quidditch isn’t just a game!” Oliver burst out. “It’s…it’s everything to me.”

Most of the times that Oliver had made this statement, he was met by ‘don’t be so dramatic’ or ‘you need a girl’. But Adelaide didn’t do either of those things.

Instead she drew her wand and waved it. Oliver looked around, trying to see what she’d done, but soon got his answer as she caught a set of pamphlets flying through the air.

“What are those?”

Adelaide held them out to him. They were pamphlets for something called ‘autism’.

“I’m not saying that this is you,” Adelaide said quickly. “And you should absolutely talk to a psychologist. But I grew up half-blood, mate, and we learned about all of this at school. My cousin’s a lot like you, but his passion is stamps. Give them a read, alright? You might get to know yourself a little bit better.”

Suffice it to say that it took less than a month of reading pamphlets and information and going to see a psychologist for Oliver to understand that he was on the spectrum. But he didn’t understand what the fuss was about.

“It’s not like there’s a treatment for this, Adelaide,” he told the Captain. “I’m alright with how I am, honestly. So why tell me at all?”

“We can all get lost in our own heads,” Adelaide answered. “And sometimes, when you have different things going on in your head, it’s harder to find your way out unless you know what’s going on. There’s nothing wrong with you, Oliver. But you need to take care of yourself. Now, come on, we’ve got to get to practice.”

They never talked about the autism thing again, and Oliver kept playing. He eventually became Captain, the same year that Katie Bell came to play on the team. And Oliver wondered if he was getting ill, because suddenly he didn’t want to spend as much time playing Quidditch. Well, he did, but he also wanted to spend time with Katie, when that had never been important before.

But Katie wasn’t just beautiful, she was brilliant.

“We can just have dates playing Quidditch,” she explained when he told her.

And it worked out for both of them, because suddenly they got very good indeed at dealing with distractions during games. They had lots of practice getting distracted by each other.

Oliver never lost his passion for Quidditch, but soon there were other passions to think about. Katie, of course, and later George and Angelina every month or so. Then there was a night where celebration took the place of caution, and plans had to change. But they adapted; Katie took a year off and Oliver missed a Quidditch final. His team still won (he trained them bloody well, of course they won), but he didn’t find out about it until a couple of hours afterwards. He was too busy watching his daughter come into the world. Abigail Katherine Wood had his eyes and hair colour, and holding her in his arms, Oliver realized that she wasn’t any kind of mistake, because she needed to be here.

And one day he would understand that he made a mistake pushing Quidditch on Abby, and he stepped back and let her find her own passions. And that meant getting drawn more deeply into the frankly quite-mad world of the Weasley family and all their kinship and children and noise and bustle.

But there was still Quidditch there, and that helped with any difficulties Oliver did have some times, not reading people correctly, getting overwhelmed by too many questions. And when even Quidditch couldn’t help, when he was having a really terrible day, his family helped him through the worst of it, and gave him a way out of his own head.

And it was that day that Oliver wrote a letter to Adelaide Summers. It contained only three lines.

_I understand now, thank you._

_P.S. Do you fancy coming for a rec match with Puddlemere?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, I am not on the autism spectrum (nor am I claiming this is every autistic person's experience), but research and knowing friends and family on the spectrum have made me reasonably confident in this headcanon of Oliver Wood being autistic. If I've got any major thing wrong, please let me know right away; I don't want to represent this condition incorrectly.  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	6. Hearts in Flight (Katie Bell)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katie's perspective on life and love and healing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, I know this is late, sorry!   
> Mentions of sex here; nothing graphic, but I would put it at high T.

Katie fancied George, Oliver, and Angelina in turns, so it wasn’t surprising that she ended up with all four of them in different ways.

She and Angelina had a very brief fling between her sixth and seventh year, and it consisted of multiple orgasms, gossiping and ending with a promise to stay close. Katie saw her heart, and it belonged to George first and foremost. She didn’t want to spoil that.

Especially since she’d had a hopeless crush on George Weasley since third year. He’d found her crying in the bathroom after a difficult Potions lesson. She’d never asked how he found her, and all she did was laugh at his silly fake wand, that turned into flowers.

(When she woke up in St. Mungo’s after the cursed necklace, she found an updated, more elaborate fake wand beside her bed).

Oliver was different. He was her Captain, her training partner, and her Yule Ball date. They had these points of contact, but for a long time only possibility shimmered between them, no real connection.

That changed after the war, after a few years of trying to work a job, and finally realizing that no, she _wanted to play Quidditch damnit._ So she tried out for a couple of teams and got accepted by Puddlemere. Which was excellent, because Oliver was familiar, and Katie had so few familiar things left that were only hers. Her parents were divorced, and both were far happier with their new families than with her, and George and Angelina were married and wrapped up in each other.

But now she was playing Quidditch with Oliver and it felt like old times, the banter and insane drills and silly trash-talking. Except now they were getting paid for it, which was wonderful really.

Then something changed, and Katie wasn’t quite sure when. Suddenly she was looking to Oliver not just as a team mate, but because he was someone nice to look at. There was nothing wrong with that, he’d always been handsome.

Then Oliver told her that he loved her, and Katie was surprised to discover that oh, that’s what she was feeling, wasn’t it?

And it very much was. Different than with Angie, different than George, holding Oliver and kissing him felt easy, it felt like she belonged in his bed and his heart.

Oliver told her he was “autistic” (his quotation marks, not hers), so Katie read up on it, as girlfriends should do. It was fascinating to see how Oliver had unconsciously turned most of the difficulties of the condition into positives, and Katie was delighted to understand that he could still want her, still love her, and it wasn’t some trick of his mind.

So they carried on as two young people in love do, snogging between practices, teasing during practice, gushing about each other to the press. Because apparently more people cared about their love story than the war recovery efforts, which Katie did understand. Sometimes you had to care about something silly to cope with all the rest of the sadness. But was their love story even worth that? They were happy, of course, and Oliver proposed to her with a ring engraved with a Quaffle and goal rings, but they were just people. There’d been no sacrifice, no doubt, no painful separation. They were normal.

Well, they were until they both started sleeping with married people.

The first time it was just an accident; the four of them were on vacation together, with the children in Lee’s capable care. Or least it was an accident that Katie enjoyed kissing Angelina on the mouth a little too much during Truth or Dare. The rest of the choices they made that night were all deliberate, and in the morning they decided that they needed to continue doing this.

It wasn’t that she was in love with either George or Angie, Katie reflected. It was more that she loved them and liked being in bed with them and her husband, who she was in love with.

It was a secret from the rest of the world for several years, though more of an open secret among their families. It only happened once a month or so—they were all too busy for anything more—and it was always good, and Katie could never point to anything that made them keep it secret. Maybe it was just a wish for privacy, to not have to explain themselves.

Then their children grew up, and young Freddie ended up with a girl and boy, and Lily had three partners by the time she was sixteen, and by that point they’d talked about it. The tabloids still didn’t know; by this point they were more focused on James and Abby (the poor dears; though they were better at dealing with them than Katie or Oliver ever was).

Katie was just glad she had Abby at all. She’d never seen herself as a mother (could she even love a child properly after being raised by her parents?), but when Abby was born she realized that she loved this child, and she wanted to try. That didn’t make her a good mother, and honestly there were days when she had no idea at all what to do with her daughter who wasn’t much like her or Oliver. All she knew to do was to make sure Abby knew that she loved her, and not to divorce Oliver. Those were easy to do.

The day Abby got married, Katie explained all of this while she helped Abby into her dress. To her surprise, Abby thought it was hilarious.

“What are you talking about, Mum? You were great!”

“I made mistakes, and you know it. I pushed you towards Quidditch so hard when you were younger—”

“Yeah, but you did that because you thought I enjoyed it, and you wanted to encourage me to be ambitious. You weren’t always around, and you didn’t exactly bake cookies and sing me lullabies. Thanks for that, by the way; you’re a terrible singer. But I knew I could come to you whenever I needed you, and you would help however you could. You gave me love and you gave me that sureness, and Mum that’s what I needed from you. That’s all most kids really need.”

That was Katie’s proudest moment, and she couldn’t help singing along that night, tone-deaf and all, swaying with her husband and her lovers, and celebrating that her daughter was seventeen and in love, willing to commit to a big love so young. And she felt at peace at last, a peace that was stolen from her at her daughter’s age by a necklace that left her worried that some part of her heart was gone.

But it couldn’t be, because in that moment that Abby pulled her onto the dance floor for a mother -daughter dance, Katie’s heart was so full she felt like she could fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wanted Katie to find a happy ending, and to my surprise she insisted on a more complicated but more fulfilling one.   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	7. The Fourth Man (Fred Weasley I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred makes a decision, and joins a group.

When Fred arrived at the crossroads, he hesitated.

If he went back, he could see his family for the rest of their lives. Think of all the pranks he could pull in ghost form; he and Peeves would have the time of their lives. Well, afterlives. 

And George…

But Fred knew he couldn’t.

James Potter agreed with him.

They were sitting together by the side of the road into Ottery St. Catchpole. That was the boundary for him and George as children, and it always felt like an impossible barrier. _No going beyond there alone!_ Was his parents’ biggest rule, and it was the one they never broke. When they were thirteen and finally allowed to go beyond it and run down to the village, it felt like freedom.

It had taken Fred a moment to realize that he was dead at all; he felt no pain, nothing had happened. He’d just been laughing at Percy, why was he dead?

But James Potter was there, and he introduced himself even though there was absolutely no need, he really did look almost exactly like Harry. He was the one who explained about the crossroads.

“I think you should move on, Fred. For one thing—” James’ face twisted—“there might be more of your family coming through.”

Merlin, Fred hoped not. It couldn’t be one of his siblings—it would break Mum for good.

“And you should stay because they might stay too. Splitting up a family is never easy. I know your twin is there, I know that he’s in pain, but if he has to choose at some point—”

“I know.” Fred bit his lip. “Did I do the right thing? Fighting, I mean?”

“Of course you did. It was very brave of you.”

“I just…I left them all.”

“That wasn’t by choice, Fred. And they will heal, if they get the chance.”

Fred nodded. “Alright then. We’d best get going, then, right? Or—are you coming with me?”

“Of course.” James stood and helped Fred up. “Come on, Fred. I’m a big fan of your work.”

“You are?”

“Sirius and Remus have told me all about it, it sounds fantastic.”

“Remus? Oh god, no…”

“Yes.” James set his jaw. “Tonks as well; her Dad just brought her through.”

“Merlin, their baby…”

“Harry is still alive,” James answered. “And so are your family. I know whoever survives will help take care of Teddy.”

“Harry’s a great kid,” Fred said. It was so odd, talking to Harry’s dad. “I’m proud that he’s my brother. Well, sort-of, I know he’s not blood but I love the kid.”

“There’s nothing sort-of about the way he feels about you. You and all your siblings. He loves you like family.” James’ smile was a bit shaky. “I suppose that’s why it works that you and George were the ones who passed on my legacy. Well, _our_ legacy.”

Fred was confused. “What do you mean?”

“The Marauder’s Map. I’m so glad you used it properly, you’ve had some very creative projects.”

“Sorry,” Fred interrupted. “You’re—you’re one of the Marauders?”

“Yes, I am. I’m Prongs. Sirius is Padfoot, and Remus is Moony. Peter—Peter Pettigrew was Wormtail.”

Fred stopped in his tracks. “Do you mean to tell me that I knew _two_ of the Marauders in life—and _Harry never told me?!”_

James threw his head back and laughed.

“That specky, scrawny little git!” Fred growled. “I’ll show—”

He stopped. He wouldn’t be seeing Harry, if all went well, for a very long time.

James put an arm around his shoulders. “I know, mate. It’s hard at first. You miss them so damn much, but you don’t really _want_ to see them soon, do you?”

“Does it get easier?” Fred asked.

“It sort of does.” They were walking across a field now, that Fred vaguely remembered from a picnic when he was young. “You’re happy for them, and time feels different. You’ll start to feel less impatience, and more just…longing.”

Fred nodded. “I hope I’ll be alright.”

“I promise you will, lad.” That sounded funny coming from someone who was—well, really just a year older than Fred. “We can help you. You won’t be alone. Besides, you know what works really well?”

“What?”

James let go of him and stepped aside. Fred was confused, at least until an enormous amount of slime coated him. It smelled vaguely like cherries.

“Planning for their arrival,” Sirius—Padfoot, it was really _Padfoot_ —laughed, leaping up from behind a bush. Remus Lupin was there, with a more subdued smile and looking healthier than Fred had ever seen him.

“Hullo,” Fred said. He felt unaccountably shy all of a sudden. These men were his idols, everything he’d strived to be for years. And he’d been a brother to their kid.

“Wotcher Fred!” Tonks came out of nowhere and hugged him tight. “God, mate, I’m sorry you’re here, but it is nice to see you.” She waved her wand and the slime vanished. “You boys be nice to Fred. We’ve had a couple of hours to adjust.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Of course, Dora.” He grinned at Fred. “Well done, with all your work. You’ve done the Marauder name proud.”

Fred’s heart skipped—or, well, did he have a heart anymore? Did Sirius mean—

“We’ve been without a fourth man for long enough,” Remus said. “We could use you.”

Fred hesitated for only a second, because George—

“We’ll be five when he comes,” James interrupted. “What do you say, Fred?”

“Hell yes.”

“Welcome to the Marauders, Rapier.”

Being dead and knowing that the Battle of Hogwarts was over, not being able to celebrate it quite as fully, was hard. Harder still was knowing that his family was ill with grief, because he didn’t have any self-esteem issues and knew how much his family loved him. But being dead was overall a decent experience, especially since the Marauders and their lovers (apparently Sirius and Amelia Bones had hooked up once they were both dead) took him in like a second family.

Trying to figure out what was going on back on Earth was difficult; Fred always got massive headaches when he tried. Lily Potter found him doing that one day, rocking slightly as he rubbed his temples.

“I think you might be looking at it the wrong way,” she said. “Why don’t you try listening to see if anyone is reaching out to you? Twins have pretty powerful connections.”

And so for the first time instead of trying to _see_ , Fred closed his eyes and listened. At first there was nothing but the faint sounds of the other people in the house, but slowly Fred could hear something. It was a steady thumping, almost in tune with his heartbeat (he did still have a heartbeat. Why it beat was anyone’s guess, though Tonks thought it was just to make them more comfortable). It was a sound that he recognized.

“Georgie?” he called out. “Georgie, is that you?”

The thumping sped up so fast Fred was terrified. Had he hurt his brother?

But the next second he heard, across dimensions and states of being, a whispered, desperate, “Freddie?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like you all to know that I tried as fucking hard as I could to make Fred's death happier.   
> I hope I did okay in that respect.   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	8. Waking Up (Angelina Johnson)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes time for Angelina to find her place, but it's worth sleepwalking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, this was supposed to be up yesterday. Yup, I suck. As usual, the next will be up tomorrow, as scheduled.

Angelina felt lost after the war.

She and her family had stayed to fight; they lived in a Muggle-heavy part of Manchester, and it made a lot more sense to stay and help protect their neighbours than to flee the country. Their pureblood status protected them from Ministry scrutiny, and Angelina spent a lot of nights thanking Oliver for all of those drills in the late nights and early mornings—practice flying in the dark came in handy more than once.

She missed her friends, missed school, and panicked every time Potterwatch started to fade out. Most of the time it was the mandatory ‘quiet’ part of the episode, to help them fly under the radar. But the night there was cursing and a shout of ‘leg it—they’re here!’ Angelina trembled as she put up protective spells and prayed.  But it always came back on, no matter what, and that was all that mattered.

She fought in the Battle, and screamed with George when they saw Fred lying dead. She screamed again hours later, when Harry lay so still in Hagrid’s arms, because it couldn’t be, George couldn’t bear the loss of another brother…

And then, not fifteen minutes later, it was all over, just like that. Angelina’s head whirled like mad, and she clung to George, relief making her kiss him, and then exhaustion making them both fall into a doze in the Great Hall. Sleeping anywhere was another thing she could thank Oliver for.

But then the war was over, and what was there to do now? There was no more need for civilian volunteers, and Angelina drifted. Her parents took her on a trip to Botswana to celebrate, and Angelina visited with her mother’s family and drank plenty of bush tea, and wondered what on Earth she was going to do when she got home? She had a vague idea about George, but he was so broken. They wrote that whole long month, but there was nothing they could really say to each other. How do you acknowledge a hole that deep?

Angelina did return with her parents, and she tried to go back to her old job, working as a clerk at Flourish and Blotts. She’d always loved reading, and being surrounded by books was exactly what she always wanted, but the shelves had lost their magic for her.

Every day she saw Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, with its windows boarded shut, and she prayed for George. Going to Mass during the war had never helped, and she’d stopped going. Did God even care about magic folk? Her father insisted that he did, but Angelina’s faith was never as strong. Oh, she believed in a God that most of her peers didn’t acknowledge—which was fine, because everyone had their own faiths, and it was their actions that mattered the most—but whether God could help anyone, that was another thing entirely.

But finally one day Angelina saw the shop open, and she went inside right away. George stood at the counter, in those magnificently clashing robes, and there were a few employees.

“Hullo Angie,” he said. “How’s your job been?”

They didn’t talk for long that day, but it gave Angelina a glimmer of hope to see him actually at work. He wasn’t healed yet, but maybe he would be.

Angelina spent the next few months going between work, her small flat, and the joke shop. She saw George every day, and every day it seemed like George was getting both worse and better. To a customer who didn’t know him, it might look like George was rebounding well from his twin’s death, but in private he was getting more…hollow. That’s what it sounded like when he spoke, like something had been taken from him inside.

Angelina knew how that felt. She’d already given notice at Flourish and Blotts, but she didn’t know what to do next. She drifted into helping George at the joke shop, and eventually became an employee, but they were both sleepwalking that year, pretending to be normal, even with each other.

But one day they both woke up. For George it was Ron quitting the Aurors and coming to help in the joke shop, and for Angelina it was a coffee date with Lee.

The idea that Lee used to joke about wanting to go out with her, a play on the fact that they were the only two black students in Gryffindor and everyone asked them that, was hilarious. But they were still friends, even though they hadn’t seen each other in over a year.

“How are things going with Commentating?” Angelina asked. “Can you still smile?”

“I’ve found ways,” Lee answered. “It’s tough, but you do find laughter eventually. You don’t look well, Angelina.”

“I don’t feel awake,” Angelina answered, too tired to be anything but blunt. “I’m just going through the motions. At least during the war I had something to do, but now I just feel useless. I can’t even help George, really.”

“You can’t help people if you’re feeling just as bad as them.” Lee’s face lit up. “I might actually have a job for you!”

“I don’t want to play Quidditch, thanks.” Could she manage to fly again, to care about a game? Not yet. Not yet.

“No, I was actually talking to Arthur Weasley the other day. He told me that his department’s new initiative is to set up magical protective measures for Muggles all over the country. They’re going to start in London, but…well, the war might be over, but I don’t think things will be safe forever. Neither does Arthur.”

Angelina blinked, and then grabbed a napkin. “They’d have to be pretty non-invasive, or they would notice. And they’ll need to be renewed regularly…” They wouldn’t be spells erected hastily under cover of darkness, dodging Death Eaters…they could be real. And maybe they could help with other Muggle things, making those alrum systems more effective…

“Angie, you with me?”

Angelina took a deep breath. “Yeah, Lee. I’m with you.” She laughed out loud, shocked by how true that was. “Oh my gosh, this could be wonderful? Did Arthur say if he was hiring?”

“You’ve got an interview in, oh, twenty minutes?”

Angelina hugged Lee as hard as she could. “What can I do to say thank you?”

“Make me the godfather of your first spawn?”

“Not if you call them spawn I won’t!” Angelina shouted over her shoulder and racing down Diagon Alley. She needed some time to come up with some plans, no doubt Arthur was expecting some level of preparedness.

But Arthur wasn’t expecting anything other than her to show up, and the two spent almost three hours talking through different plans. Angelina had never spent much time with George’s parents, and she’d never noticed how like his father he was. There was the same enthusiasm, the earnest disregard for rules in pursuit of noble aims, and a genuine heart.

At the end of that three hours, Angelina had a job that would start the next day, and she felt like singing as she went back to Diagon Alley, because she had a plan to help George.

But George met her at the door to Wizarding Wheezes and swept her off her into a deep kiss. When they broke apart, Angelina saw his eyes shining, and she found out that Ron was coming to help with the shop.

“That’s great! I’m going to work with your dad, but I’m going to be free to come in sometimes! And George, I think you might want to look at jokes that help people in trauma.”

George didn’t speak.

“We’ve both been trapped trying to pretend that the war never happened,” Angelina said. “That we’ve gotten past it, and we’re fine. But we’re not fucking fine, none of us are, and we need to work with those feelings if we’re ever going to be happy.”

George all but dragged her inside, and Angelina rushed to keep up. They passed Ron, who politely fled, and just made it up the stairs and into George’s room before they started tearing off clothes.

“This was a good feeling the war gave me,” George grunted out as he touched her. “I won’t ignore it anymore.”

Angelina gave back touch for touch, kiss for kiss, and they didn’t stop until they were too tired to move anymore. And for the first time since the war ended, Angelina felt wide awake, even as she drifted to sleep.

The next morning Angelina woke up just before George. When he did wake up, he gasped and looked at her.

“I heard Fred,” he whispered. “I dreamt, and I heard him. That’s the first time since—since he died.”

And Angelina held him and let him cry into her shoulder, and thanked God, because George sounded awake for the first time.

They built their life together surprisingly fast after that. Angelina flourished in her new job, and with Ron and Seamus’ help Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes started doing even better. Angelina started spending time with George’s family and talking with the ‘Weasley wives’ (even though some of them weren’t married yet, though it was only matter of asking for Ginny and Hermione).

It turned out that it was only a matter of asking for Angelina too, because the moment she realized that she was pregnant, George blurted out a proposal. It took Angelina twenty minutes of shouting to be convinced that George already had a ring for her, he was waiting for the anniversary of them getting together, and he would be alright with getting married even without a baby.

But they got married very much with a baby—Angelina was seven months pregnant the day they said their vows. They were the traditional vows in her traditional church, but Angelina didn’t mind that the words had been said before. Their love story hadn’t been told yet, and it felt right to begin with familiar words.

And of course, when Freddie was born (would have been Freddie whether it was a girl or a boy, Angelina insisted), and Lee Jordan came by with a bouquet of flowers that squirted Angelina in the face, Angelina threatened to take godfather privileges away.

She didn’t, of course, and when Roxy came along (her beautiful, smart little girl with her grandmother’s eyes and name), she graciously extended them.

Motherhood was exhausting, and being part of a large family was confusing, and being responsible for the security of innocent, uninvolved Muggles during any wizarding crisis was daunting. But Angelina kept her head up and a smile on her face, tears in her eyes when she needed them, and faith in her heart.

She was awake again, and that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of Angelina's story has been told through the polyquad chapters already, and I wanted to focus on her years right after the war. You know me, I like to find the times between heartbreak and happiness just as much as fluff.   
> Also, you may notice that there is now a number of chapters. They are by no means all finished, but that's what I have planned for 'Kin'. Not sure about Kith yet.   
> Also also, tomorrow won't be a Kith chapter--it'll be Open Wounds. This is one that was requested ages ago, and I'm hella excited!   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	9. First of Many, Many Firsts (Bill Weasley)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill Weasley is the oldest, and he's first to do many things, be many things. But there are some more important than others.

Bill was used to being the ‘first’ for a lot of things. It was the lot of the eldest.

He was the first to go to Hogwarts and got lots of new things, the first to be a Prefect, the first Weasley in generations not to play Quidditch (he just didn’t enjoy the game), and the first to get a job. The first to leave home, the first to get married…

But he wasn’t the first to die, and that _hurt._

He was so used to being the protector, the guardian—he’d protected so many during the war—and yet his little brother lay dead and still at the end of the war.

That’s when he really needed Fleur. Her beautiful strength got through to him, her love sustained him as he realized that his brother had left them first, and gone where Bill couldn’t follow. And Fleur needed him, to help her cope with the darkness she saw in the world, the darkness that brought back every cry of ‘monster’ she’d ever heard. She’d used the Cruciatus Curse in the Battle more than once, Bill had watched her do it.

But he didn’t care, because she was still Fleur. And he would remind her of that every day, as she returned the favour and reminded him that he was still Bill.

Bill was tempted to return to Egypt immediately after the war. He needed to go over there; he hadn’t been in ages. But Gringotts was in chaos (partly thanks to Ron and his friends, Bill couldn’t help smiling when he saw the damage), and his parents were looking very old all of a sudden, and then…then Fleur asked him for a child. And Bill became the first father in his family (though of course Ginny could rightfully claim first mother, so he wasn’t alone in the firsts for once).

So Bill stayed, and changed jobs. Instead of being a curse breaker, he worked with Gringotts to make reparations; finding the vaults of all those who profited from the war (not just Death Eaters; some of  the possessions Bill found made him ill), and distributing the funds fairly. Bill left the money parts to the goblins, but he tracked down every claim and argued the cases.

It took until Dominique was born for all that work to be finished, and Bill started to think about curse breaking again. He adored his wife, adored his precious daughters and all the rest of their family, but he loved his job too. He was _good_ at it.

When Dominique was two and Fleur was pregnant again, Bill went on his first trip. He’d worked out a plan with Gringotts—he would be on a case by case basis, instead of being stationed in Egypt. After all, he argued, wouldn’t it be best to train new people and help on really difficult cases?

He got very good at being a consulting curse breaker (the first of his kind), and he was still home lots. Lots of time for Lou to be born, and he chased all three of his children along the beach and taught them how to swim and be kind and to be themselves. When Lou insisted that they weren’t a he or a she, and wanted to be just called Lou, Bill took them upstairs and showed them all the pretty dresses that were much too big for Mummy.

“Daddy wears these,” he explained. “I thought it might scare or confuse you, that’s why I only wear them after you’re in bed.”

“Are you a them, Daddy?” Lou asked.

“No,” Bill said thoughtfully. “I’m still a he, but I really enjoy feeling pretty. Mummy helped me pick these out. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I know that sometimes you don’t feel exactly the way people tell you to be, and I’m not angry.”

The next week, Bill was the first of his brothers to wear a dress to a family event, one that matched Lou’s outfit precisely. He wasn’t the last. George tried it a couple of times before deciding that it wasn’t really his style—he preferred makeup. And Percy wore dresses every once in a while too, though his were in more subdued colours than Bill’s.

The crowning day came six months later, when Dad stepped out very shyly in a pale pink blouse and a dark blue skirt, and asked if the colours suited.

That was the last of Bill’s firsts for years; Harry saw Teddy Lupin off on the train a year before he said goodbye to Victoire, and Freddie Weasley was the first Slytherin, before Lou went to school. No, his next first came the day his daughter told him she was pregnant. Eight months later, Victoire Flooed him very calmly, and they chatted for a few moments. Bill finally noticed that her hair was messy, out of her usual braids. When he asked, Victoire smiled. “Oh, Papa, I just took them out when I was in labour. Estelle likes it loose, I might just keep it that way.”

After several expletives about “you don’t sodding tell your Dad that you gave birth like that, Vic!” Bill called Fleur and Lou, and sent a quick letter to Nicky, who was on her way back to England to see her sister’s baby born. Of course, they weren’t expecting the little bundle of joy for another month, but Weasley babies often came early.

Bill was the first one to get to the hospital room, Harry behind him by only a minute. Teddy’s hair was six different colours at once, and he trembled when Harry hugged him. Bill was focused mostly on the tiny bundle in his daughter’s arms. Had she ever been that small, really?

Bill was the first grandfather among his siblings (Harry pointed out that he was a Grand-Bear, so that didn’t count), and, holding Estelle in his arms, he realized that it was the first he loved best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an oldest (but with less siblings), I know Bill's struggles. You don't always want to be first, and a lot of the time you're not. And it's fine.  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	10. Son of the Chosen (James Sirius Potter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Sirius would be unremarkable if he belonged to any other family; if he was even born to any other couple.   
> As it is, his life is extraordinary.

James loves reading romantic novels because seeing people fall in love is a pleasure he never thought he would have, and now that he does have it he wants that happiness for everyone.

But he understands cousin Lou at the same time, and the two of them share a bond where they’re perfectly happy with one part of the ‘love and sex’ equation and don’t feel broken at all.

James was used to being one of many, but when he had his brother and sister he felt a new kind of connection. Even when they were all very small, he chose their company over almost everyone else. When he goes to Hogwarts he writes to both of them every week, just like Uncle Charlie and they write back. None of them are in the same house, and sometimes James wishes they weren’t, but he’s happy where he is and wants the same for his brother and sister. Instead of letters, they meet once a week in the passage under the one-eyed witch, swap stories, and swap the Cloak and the Map (you get one or the other, _that’s the deal_. The third person gets the monthly package from Uncle George and Uncle Ron).

James unexpectedly falls in love with having peacocks. He talks to Claudette every day, and speaks to Draco about possibly getting more. Draco promises that when the next brood are hatched he can pick what he wants.

James studies the ways he can give Abby pleasure religiously, because they do make love every once in a while, even before they start trying for a baby.

James and Aunt Hermione are particularly close, because they read so many of the same books. When James is in school Aunt Hermione will take him out every once in a while to go used-bookstore hunting, and when James graduates they spend a few hours every Saturday at a library (different one every time), hunting through the stacks for new favourites.

James doesn’t know as much about his namesake as Lily and Albus do. The only living person who knew James Potter well was Professor McGonagall, and she did her best but couldn’t give everything. But Slughorn remembers Lily’s love story because she was his favourite, and James spends a lot of time with the Slytherin Head talking about how that story went. Neither of them talk much about how it ended. Because of this, James feels more connected to his grandmother, but he has a lot of respect for his grandfather.

That connection is strengthened when Aunt Hermione and Dad find the book with Grandmother’s handwriting, and realize that the potions notes were hers. James spends several hours in the back of the Apothecary, testing the experimental potions. Lily Evans wrote about potion ingredients the way excellent chefs write about their ingredients, and James loves that way of learning; from the ingredients up instead of learning the potions without knowing their properties.

James and his Mum have a relationship that is partly mother-son and partly kindred spirits. He has her kind of bravery—brash when it needs to be,  quiet when it doesn’t. On top of that, they both enjoy flying in the sunshine in spring, and after dark in winter, and they both look forward to those seasons.

James loves his Dad dearly, but sometimes he’s confused. When he was little, he would hear Daddy saying one thing, saying that he was fine, for example, but then he would see Daddy cry at midnight, when he thought James was asleep. Or he would say that someone was good, but then James would find out that the person wasn’t really that great, like Dumbledore and Snape. Albus was furious with Dad, but James just didn’t understand. Dad had taught them very well what a good person was, so how did it even make sense?

It took until James watched his father give up the Auror position that he understood. Dad had learned good lessons and bad lessons, and somehow he couldn’t see when they contradicted each other. It takes a long time to unlearn that kind of behaviour.

And the fact that James grew up without any of those bad lessons, without any of the behaviours or worries that Dad unlearns, is the reason he is proud to be Harry Potter’s son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love my asexual bookworm Chaser Potioneering peacock-loving son. (Well, Harry's, but I wrote him this way so I get a hint of credit).   
> Next chapter, we're going to take a look at one of this lad's namesakes, and get a closer look at that love story.


	11. Taking Care (James Potter Sr.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James wanted to protect his family from childhood to adulthood, but it was never easy. In the end, no one can save everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI this does follow canon so...James died. This shouldn't be a spoiler--if it is, I have no idea why you're reading fanfiction before finishing chapter one of the first book.

James Potter was an only child with ghosts for siblings. His mother and father told him from a very young age that he had half-a-dozen brothers and sisters, they just hadn’t lived very long.

“The longest any of them lived was four days,” his mother told him once. “On your fifth day we threw a party.”

James was six that day.

So James grew up knowing that he was the youngest of many, and that somehow he’d managed to live longer than any of them. And he saw his mother’s grief, the way she murmured names sometimes late at night. He saw his father’s pain, when he gave James the cloak.

“It’s for you, son,” he said.

Except it wasn’t, really, because it should have been for Timothy. Or Helena, or Judith, or Ian, or Claire, or Christopher. James should have been the one clamoring for a turn with it, not using it as his own.

But most of the time, James had a fantastically happy childhood. His parents put their grief aside more often than not, and they spoiled him just a touch with gifts and privileges. Never with attention or love, though. You can’t spoil a child with those things.

Still, James wanted siblings. He knew his parents couldn’t give him any, so he went and found some himself, Remus and Sirius and Peter. He found out that being a brother meant fights and annoyance, and it meant sacrifice and support. It meant working feverishly to learn to change his body, it meant giving Sirius sanctuary and not going to fight his family, because it would only make things worse. And it meant feeling a little annoyed by Peter and how strange he seemed sometimes, but it didn’t matter. Brothers were brothers.

The war came for James in a surprising way. His parents were never “proud” of being Pureblood, but James knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he did have privilege because of that. He was never harassed by anyone, never wondered about his future, never worried about money. Still, he was willing to believe that the so-called ‘Death Eaters’ could never gain any traction. Surely people weren’t that stupid.

But then he heard Severus Snape call Lily Evans a Mudblood, and James knew war was coming. It sounded overly dramatic in his own head, but he knew that Snape was in love with Lily. But he’d still thrown that slur, still called her out in front of a huge crowd.

It was a wake-up call for James, watching those last couple weeks of term when Lily shrank into herself, when she was walking alone, when she ate without speaking. In James’ eyes, Lily had always been popular, but something must have changed. While he’d been watching her, loving her, other people must have begun to pull away. Whether it was because of Snape or her blood status, James had no idea. It was probably a mixture of both, because Gryffindor girls didn’t speak to her and the Slytherins started to harass her.

When sixth year began, James had two goals. He was going to throw himself into the resistance effort at school, because it was getting stupid. And he was going to make sure that Lily Evans was as happy as possible. There was a happy place in the middle of those goals, because Lily should never have to feel lesser because of her blood, and neither should anyone else.

Suggesting that Lily join the Charms club was the beginning, and encouraging Remus to study with her was another part. James also backed off from her, not asking her out once the entire year. He kept up with small gifts (sent by his second owl), and he never really stopped loving her. But he had to put her first, and she didn’t want him. He could live with that, as long as she was smiling and safe.

The resistance was actually more difficult. Discovering the rotten underbelly of the student body, all the secret hatred, all the anonymous acts of anger, wasn’t that hard. James couldn’t understand how he’d never seen it before, but of course he hadn’t. No one saw any need to harass James Potter, after all. Sirius had always had to deal with the ‘blood traitor’ thing, but James knew that his friend’s role came more because of his family’s cruelty than their beliefs, though they were closely tied.

No, the difficult thing was figuring out what to do about it. The Marauders could play pranks and have duels in the halls with the worst of the ‘Death Eaters’, and take those detentions with pride. They’d been doing that for years though, and James wanted a better solution. He and his brothers wanted to make sure that the movement could be crushed before it got beyond words and cruel tricks.

But their last visit to Hogsmeade that year proved it was already too late.

Black robed figures strode down the street, some clearly students but others were grownups, and they tore into people. They must have had some kind of list, because James saw them step by people who were pureblood, and instead try to trample the Muggleborns. Curses were flying everywhere, and James watched in horror as people stood in the street and just…watched. They didn’t stop anything, they didn’t raise a protest. All they did was watch.

   James leapt into the fray, dragging a couple of second years— _second years, they were only twelve years old_ —away from a leering Death Eater. Sirius and Remus were helping too, Sirius mixing curses and expletives at the same time, and Remus created a shield and urged kids and adults alike over. Peter ran up the street. “I’m going for the Professors!” he shouted over his shoulder.

People were starting to come together, and the Death Eaters were getting pushed back. James was still looking for Lily in the crowd, and his heart stopped when he saw her facing off against not one, but three Death Eaters. Her back was to Zonko’s wall, and her face was pale as she threw curses.

One thing went through James’ head— _Lily’s not very good at Defense Against the Dark Arts._ She wasn’t even in the NEWT class.

   He reached into his bag before he thought about it, and threw a Dungbomb. Out of habit, he threw it just to Lily’s right, so that she wouldn’t get the full blast.

   The Dungbomb worked to perfection, and it bought James enough time to get over to Lily’s side. The Death Eaters reeled back, coughing hard. Their hoods slipped, and James’ heart stopped. One of them was Lucius Malfoy, who was married to one of Sirius’ cousins. One of them was Bellatrix Lestrange, who _was_ Sirius’ cousin.      

The third was Severus Snape.

Lily screamed out a curse James had never heard before, and Snape went flying backwards. James shook himself out of his shock, and he fired Stunning spells at Malfoy and Lestrange. The two dropped, and James reached for Lily. They had to go, had to get out of there…

Suddenly the air was filled with screams of fear, and James turned.

A man with deathly white skin and no nose stood in the square, red eyes glinting.

Voldemort was there. He raised his wand and pointed it at one of the houses, and the building caught fire. The crowd erupted into chaos, with people running and trying to hide. The Death Eaters seemed to gather courage from their leader, and they redoubled their efforts.

James looked at Lily. “Run. Get to the Shrieking Shack.” This was beyond curses, beyond words. Voldemort only came when people died. It was _not_ going to be Lily.

Lily shook her head. She pointed her wand at the house Voldemort had set alight, and called, “Aguamenti!”

A small river seemed to pour from Lily’s wand, dousing the flames and—to James’ horror and amusement—Voldemort himself. He was dripping wet as he turned to face them, and his lips curled in a furious snarl.

James put himself in front of Lily, but before Voldemort could say more than “Avada”, Lily grabbed James’ hand, and yanked him into nothingness.

They reappeared a moment later, a few blocks away.

“What did you do?”

“I’m a witch!” Lily snapped. “I Apparated. Come on!”

They both dashed back into battle, James fighting every urge to tell Lily to stay out of it. She might be a target now, but he could just make himself a bigger one, and they might both make it out alive.

It turned out that they didn’t need to that day. A bird’s cry drew James’ attention towards the sky, and he saw Fawkes. A moment later, an eerie silence fell over the square. When he and Lily dashed in, Voldemort and most of the Death Eaters were gone. Dumbledore stood there looking furious, with McGonagall and Slughorn already starting to repair the damages.

To James’ relief, Sirius and Remus were okay, and Peter puffed up a moment later; he’d found the teachers already on the way to Hogsmeade. Lily went over to Snape, who was struggling against an oversized robe. She pointed her wand into his face. “You goddamn—”

“Lily? What’s…what’s happening?”

                James looked around. The few Death Eaters remaining were pulling off their hoods, revealing themselves to be students. One of them was Marlene MacKinnon, for fuck’s sake. What had happened?

                James did eventually hear the story—apparently the Death Eaters ambushed some of the students outside Madam Puttifoots, and Imperiused them into participating. None of them could remember a thing, and James believed them. But only because Snape tried to hurt Lily. He would never have done that, not really.

                He and the others were carted off to the Hospital Wing despite furious protests. Sirius’ leg was cut, sure, and Remus had been hit with some horrible purple fire, but James was fine, completely fine, and he didn’t need to go to the Hospital Wing—

                That was the last thing he remembered before he collapsed into Lily’s arms. Adrenaline had kept him from feeling the burns on his arms and legs, sustained when he was dragging people out of the way.

                James woke up in the Hospital Wing to sunset light streaming into the room, lighting up Lily’s face as she sat beside his bed. It was a long-cherished dream of his, so of course James spoiled it by saying only, “you soaked Lord Voldemort.”

                Well, he thought he’d spoiled it. But when Lily giggled, and that turned into a laugh—he hadn’t heard her laugh out loud in so long—well, perhaps he hadn’t.

                Exams were an utter joke that year, because so many parents had yanked their children out of school within two days of the attack. James had to argue with his parents to let him stay. “My family is here!” he snapped. “And I’m not afraid of them.”

                But he was afraid of the way some students thought it was a complete joke, or that it wasn’t that bad because no one died. They quoted articles from the _Daily Prophet_ that called it a prank; they quoted their parents who thought it was somewhat justified. “They shouldn’t have gone after the kids, but the others—I heard one of the shop owners brings their Muggle sister to visit! What if she talked? That can’t be allowed, can it?”

                Even some of the teachers were giving the attacks a positive spin. Professor Shilling actually gave James detention after a bitter class dispute. “The Death Eaters might have strong tactics, but they are trying to protect wizard kind!” she snarled.

                “They were going to kill Lily Evans!” James shouted back. “They almost killed a dozen more people. Fucking Voldemort set a house on fire with people inside!”

                It was the best detention he’d ever served, especially since part way through McGonagall came in, her nostrils flared in fury, and dragged James out. She gave him ginger biscuits, told him that Shilling was being sacked, and that he wasn’t to give up.

                “I didn’t know it was this bad,” James said hopelessly, munching on a cookie. “How are people listening to them? I thought it was just words, but it’s gotten so much worse.”

                “It’s been words for longer than you might think,” McGonagall said gently. “Voldemort has been around for over a decade, and the first children who heard it are becoming adults. And there are people who remember Grindelwald, and the arguments sound right.”

                “He isn’t going to win, is he Professor?” James asked. It was a childish question, but he didn’t know what else to say.

                Professor McGonagall shocked him by pulling him into a hug. “I don’t know, Potter,” she answered. “I think there are better people in power than him, and I think there’s still goodness in wizards. But we have to keep up the fight.”

                “I’m going to,” James determined. “I don’t want to be a Healer anymore, Professor. I want to be an Auror.”

                Professor McGonagall released him. “I would advise against that, Potter.”

                “I can learn to fight better—”

                “Of course. I don’t doubt your potential, James. But it might be wiser to…to stay away from government-organized fighting, if you want to make a difference.”

                “Why?”

                “Because they will be Voldemort’s first targets,” Professor McGonagall said quietly. “And I would be surprised, honestly, if there hasn’t been action there already.”

                “Then what do I do?!”

                “Finish your exams,” McGonagall answered. “Keep up with your friends, and hold them close. Don’t let ignorance and hatred go unchallenged this summer, whatever you can do. As for next year…I’d like you to consider becoming Head Boy.”

                “Me?” James asked, stunned. “But I’ve never been a prefect.”

                “That’s merely tradition, Potter. Mr. Lupin has expressed a wish not to be Head Boy, and he recommended you as a candidate.”

                That sounded a lot like Remus. “But I don’t know how to do that. And I won’t—I’m still going to be me.”

                “You’re going to be a leader,” McGonagall said firmly. “And you can do that better than the prefects. They’re good at playing their roles—they’re strong pillars. But they need someone to help them. Someone who sustained major burns saving total strangers, for example.”

                “Do you want me to do this, Professor?”

                “I do. But I’m not the only one. Mr. Lupin recommended you, but so did the future Head Girl.”

                James was puzzled.

                “Miss Evans was informed last night, and Professor Dumbledore and I asked her if she had a preference for her partner. She told me in no uncertain terms—” a flicker of a smile flew across McGonagall’s face—“that she didn’t want to serve with anyone but you.”

                Lily Evans had chosen him. James swallowed hard. Now it wasn’t just his favourite teacher, but the girl he still loved, as many times as he told himself to stop. He had to do this right.

                “I’ll do my best, Professor,” he promised sincerely.

                He wandered the corridors for nearly an hour, safe under his Cloak, trying to understand, trying to make a plan for the following year.

                When he got back to the Common Room at last, it was empty except for Lily, who was sitting in one of the big chairs near the fire. She was staring into the flames. James wanted to leave her in peace, but he tripped over a forgotten bag and fell, tangled in the Cloak.

                Lily sprang up. “James? Is that you?”

                She had never called him James.

                “Yeah, it’s me.” James willed his blush away as he disentangled himself from the Cloak.

                “Is that your Invisibility Cloak?” Lily asked, kneeling beside him.

                James thought about bluffing. But then he realized what she’d said.

                “Hold on, did you know?”

                “There’s no way you could have gotten around _all_ of the Prefect’s traps,” Lily pointed out. “You had to be using something. A Cloak seemed the most obvious.”

                “Aren’t you clever, Evans?”

                “Could I see it?”

                James shook out the Cloak and handed it to her without a thought. He’d never shown the cloak to anyone except his brothers; it was a family heirloom. But Lily could see it. That was fine.

                Lily ran her fingers over it. “This is beautiful. How old is it?”

                “Not sure. My dad said it’s been in our family for generations, but even he’s not sure exactly.”

                “That’s really unusual, you know. Most of them lose their potency after a few years. Invisibility Charms aren’t very strong.” Lily kept playing with the folds.

                James gently—he didn’t want to scare her—took the cloak from her, and draped it around her shoulders. The edges of her long hair were invisible now, and so were her hands and shoulders. Lily looked down at herself in wonder.

                “I wish I had one of these,” she whispered.

                James bit his lip, wishing that he could give it to her. But there was no way she’d accept it. “Is it that horrible?”

                “Ever since Hogsmeade, it’s gotten worse. It’s like people aren’t afraid to say things anymore. They don’t feel like they are in the wrong.”

                “They are wrong,” James said firmly. “And they’re going to lose. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure of that.”

                Lily smiled. “That’s why I picked you for Head Boy. I know things are going to be harder next year, and you take care of people really well.”

                “I want to look out for my family,” James answered. “And I want to make sure that everyone is safe. This school is for learning, not for hatred.”

                “I hope it stays that way,” was all Lily said in return. She passed him the Invisibility Cloak, and then went upstairs.

                Three days later summer holidays started. James and Sirius went home together, and his parents welcomed them back.

                “Are you boys getting involved in this?” James’ mother asked, showing a Daily Prophet article with pictures of them both in Hogsmeade.

                “Yes,” James said, unsurprised when his brother echoed it. “However we can.”

                That’s when James found out that his parents were involved in a quiet resistance too. They’d seen the tide turning long before that year, and they worked with other people to defend Muggleborns at work, at home, and to help with Muggle-Wizard relations.

                Sirius went right to work helping with that. James helped too, but something was nagging at him. Sure, they could all sit in a room and talk about strategy, and putting up defensive spells and alarms was a great idea. He met Arthur Weasley, a Junior Minister in the Muggle Relations department, and they spent two weeks working on procedures to detect the misuse of Muggle artifacts. But James couldn’t help remembering the battle in Hogsmeade, and how fighting like that had felt completely _right_.

                But with no real direction, James spent the summer helping his parents and writing to his other brothers. The Marauders all came to stay the last two weeks, right when they were starting to hear about people disappearing. Two Muggleborns, Hyacinth Rettle and Trudy Dench, went missing within days of each other. Rettle was one of Arthur Weasley’s bosses, and Dench was a comedian who’d made several jokes about how stupid the Death Eaters were, and how cowardly. “At least your noseless boss shows his face!” James’ parents and a few others started looking for evidence, for bodies, anything to show that there’d been a crime, but by the time September first came around, there were no signs of anyone. The _Daily Prophet_ on September 1st actually said that both women were simply on sabbatical.

                “So they’ve gotten to the _Prophet”_ , James’ father sighed. “I suppose we can try the Quibbler.”

                Going back to Hogwarts felt like a horrible dream. There were fewer students than James had ever seen; the train was less than a quarter full. Everyone was tense, and parents were saying far more emotional goodbyes.

                The worst part, though, had to be the parents who dropped their children off with no fear. Why should they be afraid for their children? They were dressed in full Death Eater garb.

                Dumbledore gave his usual speech at dinner that night to a near-silent Hall. When he finished, no one moved, not even as food appeared in front of them all.

                “I want to reiterate something,” Dumbledore said at last. “So long as I am Headmaster in this school, there will be no capitulating to Voldemort.”

                Several people flinched at the name.

                “This school will remain safe for everyone.” The Headmaster’s brilliant blue gaze swept over them all. “We have amplified our security, and there will be Aurors at the gates to do spot-checks. Anyone who disagrees with this position should be prepared for the consequences—immediate expulsion. We are all here because we have magic in us, and we want to cultivate that magic. This has nothing to do with blood, and everything to do with our gifts. That is all I can say, because there is no simpler way to say it. Now, try and eat your dinners. You’ve had a long train ride.”

                The room broke out into chatter, albeit subdued, and people started to eat. James found it hard to swallow the shepherd’s pie, and Remus had his head bowed. Lily still wasn’t eating properly, and James pushed the apples her way—they were her favourite.

                When the last of the plates were clear, Dumbledore stood up again. “I would like to announce the Head Boy and Head Girl this year. They will be James Potter, and Lily Evans, both of Gryffindor House. Stand up, please.”

                James got to his feet, and Lily got up too, though much more slowly. There was some clapping, but most people were silent.

                One person started snarling. “I’m not getting bossed around by a fucking Mudblood!” It was Trevor Smith, an idiotic sixth year Hufflepuff. James pulled out his wand, but Professor Sprout interrupted him.

                “Get out, Trevor. Go and get your things, and you’ll be on the train home. I will write to your parents so they know you’re coming.”

                “Better than being in this dump!” Smith shouted over his shoulder as he strode away. “Fucking Mudbloods and blood traitors, the lot of you are going to ruin wizardkind.”

                “If I ruin people like you, Smith, I’m very happy about that,” Lily called after him.

                That got a few laughs. James squeezed Lily’s hand. “Well done you,” he whispered.

                That was the last real night that they could be happy. The last time they could believe that the war might end with talking, and that stronger wills would prevail.

                The castle itself was never attacked, but Hogsmeade was attacked twice. The second one was just before the regular Christmas holiday weekend, and there were four deaths. This cancelled all the trips, which meant everyone had to stay in the castle and have no time at all to relax, to pretend the war wouldn’t affect them.

                That day Lily found James crying. He was just sitting on his broom, not really flying, just hovering a couple of feet off the ground. She didn’t say a word, she just hopped up (she could always jump so high) and sat next to him on the broom.

                “I hate this,” James whispered at last. “I don’t want to deal with this. I don’t want to find out about all of this. But I _have to_ , because if I don’t things might get worse.”

                “That’s not up to you, you know.” Lily leaned her head on his shoulder. “I hate it too, and I don’t understand what’s so terrible about me.” She started to shake, and James saw that she was crying. “I’m a freak to my sister, and a Mudblood to these wizards. I’m never the right person.”

                “You’re the perfect Head Girl,” James answered. “You’re doing brilliantly with all of these people, even the ones who are cruel. You’re always so brave.” He swallowed hard. “I wish you didn’t have to be.”

                Lily didn’t say anything for a minute. “I’ve never been on a broom properly.”

                That made James smile. “Right, you’re scared of them.” Their first year flying class had been one of the most wonderful moments of his life, for Sirius’ idiotic hovering upside down, to Remus shooting straight up into the air, to Lily running screaming from a broom that was trying to attack her.

                “Do you know who did that?” Lily asked.

                “I asked Madam Hooch about it last year,” James answered. “She said it was just a rogue broom—sometimes their Flight Charms go a bit mental.”

                Lily actually laughed. “Well, yours is nice.”

                “Do you want to come flying?” James asked. “I promise, I’ll go slow, and nothing bad will happen.”

                Lily hesitated, but she nodded. James turned on the broom so he was facing the front, and he felt Lily wrap her arms around him. She was clinging to him tightly, and they weren’t in the air yet.

                “Don’t worry, Lily. Everything’s going to be fine.”

                James flew them around the grounds in slow loops, never going too high. It was peaceful to fly outside of Quidditch, just enjoying the view of Hogwarts. It made the problems feel a little bit farther away.

                As they were flying over Hagrid’s hut, Lily actually let go of James with one hand to wave down. James waved too, and Hagrid made a thumbs-up sign. James flushed. He’d complained to Hagrid more than once about how Lily would never notice him, but he’d stopped that a year ago. Did Hagrid still think he was…in love with Lily?

                Maybe he was. But he knew better now. It wasn’t going to happen, so he was going to keep his mouth shut and keep this girl happy.

                “James, can we go faster?”

                “Really, Lils? Can you handle that?” James looked over his shoulder, and saw Lily’s green eyes shining brighter than they had in months.

                “Yes, come on!”

                Grinning, James sped up; still not too fast, but faster now, and they started going higher.

                “Faster!” Lily called.

                James had an idea. “Let me know if we start going too fast, alright?”

                Lily squeezed him around the waist, and James sped up.

                Soon they were flying as fast as he would in a game of Quidditch, maybe even faster. The wind was completely messing up his hair, and his eyes were starting to water behind his glasses, but he didn’t stop. It was as fast as he could fly safely.

                He turned his head as they flew over the lake, and saw Lily Evans looking absolutely delighted. Her braids had come undone and her hair flew in the wind, and her eyes were wide open. When she saw him looking, she laughed. “Jay, it’s wonderful!”

                James laughed too, and they did several loops around the lake, swerving sharply to make Lily shriek and climbing high and falling because it was so much _fun._ Finally, James started to slow down.

                “Is there something wrong, James?” Lily asked.

                “No, it’s just…thank you for cheering me up.” James took a deep breath. “And I wanted to make sure you knew that I’m not trying to come on to you, I just want you to be happy because you’re amazing and you deserve to be happy always—”

                Lily slid away from him. For a wild minute, James thought she was going to jump into the almost-frozen over lake. But she was just turning, sitting sideways on the broom. Puzzled, James copied her.

                “Look down there,” Lily said, pointing.

                James looked down and huffed out a laugh. The Giant Squid was at the surface, its tentacles poking through holes in the ice.

                “I told you once that I wouldn’t go out with you if it was a choice between you and the Giant Squid, remember?”

                Yes, James remembered that day.

                “But that was before…well, everything. You changed, James. Or maybe you just stopped being a prat, and you were always like this. I don’t really know, it sounds like that from what Remus tells me.”

                “You were right,” James said, not sure where this was going. “I was awful. I had to stop.”

                “Did…” Lily trailed off. “Did your feelings for me change too, then?”

                James’ throat went dry. “Lily—”

                “Because,” Lily said hurriedly, “it seems like you’re treating me like a good friend, which is lovely, but knowing you better…it’s like I saw you for the first time, really saw you. And I…I do want to go out with you. It’s okay if you don’t want to, if things have changed, but I wanted you to know that.”

                James swallowed hard. “Lily, can I kiss you?”

                “Only if I get to kiss you first,” Lily said, and she kissed him, threading her fingers through his hair. James held her waist with one hand, keeping her steady, and put the other on her back, wanting to pull her closer, to feel her fully, because he could hardly believe this was real. Was he dreaming?

                When Lily pulled away, her eyes were shiny. “Sorry, Squid!” she shouted. “I know you and I might have had something special, but I think I’m keeping Jay!”

                James’ laughter rang out across the lake, and he sped the broom to the shore, leaping off and pulling Lily into his arms for a proper kiss. Lily kissed back with such enthusiasm James lost his balance, and they both toppled into the snow.

                “YESSSSSS!”

                James craned his head back and groaned. “Oh, no.”

                Sirius, Remus and Peter were there, Sirius literally jumping up and down. “Fucking finally!”

                “How the hell did you three find out?”

                “Well you two were flying around the castle, and we saw you.” Remus explained. “So we started watching.”

                “You two will be a great couple,” Peter said fondly.

                Lily buried her face in James’ chest, and James laughed, playing with her hair. “You know what the gossip is like at Hogwarts, Lils. I’m glad it was them first.”

                “If I wasn’t the first to know I would have murdered you both,” Sirius said calmly. “Now come inside before you catch your deaths. You can’t snog in the Hospital Wing!”

                Quick as a flash Lily sat up, a snowball in her hand, and she threw it directly at Sirius. It caught him square in the mouth, and he stumbled back, sputtering.

                Lily jumped to her feet. “Come on, Jay!” she shouted. “We can take them.”

                They would argue about who won that snowball fight for years, but James never really cared. He’d won something amazing that day; the love of the girl he loved. Not that she was a prize, but for the first time James felt like he’d actually succeeded in changing himself.

 

                Loving Lily, and her loving him, made the next few months more bearable. It got worse outside the castle walls, and more and more students were being pulled out, some because their families were going abroad, and others because their kids were of age, and there were other things for them to do. James watched in consternation as Severus Snape followed McNair and Goyle out. Everyone knew where they were going. Lily was quiet that day, and stayed cuddled in his arms as long as she could, even in class. None of the teachers said a word.

                But the war was really coming now, and the Ministry was starting to release Blood Purity rules—just to keep wizard kind safe, they said. Lily finally cried when she saw a Daily Prophet article announcing that Muggleborns would have to pass a special series of exams, beyond NEWTs, in order to be hired, just to make sure that they were truly loyal.

                “I can’t take those tests, James,” Lily sobbed. “I can’t…it’s not fair…I won’t do it.”

                Professor McGonagall pulled them both out of their first class and brought them up to see Dumbledore. Sirius, Remus, and Peter joined them at the gryphon, and James swallowed hard. What was happening? Were they about to be advised to leave Lily alone?

                _I won’t do it._

                But it wasn’t only Dumbledore in there. There was a whole crowd of people of different ages. Some James had never seen before, but he recognized Alastor Moody, and he’d played Quidditch with Fabian and Gideon Prewett. Fabian waved to him, and James nodded back.

                “What’s going on?”

                Dumbledore’s normally cheerful expression was very grave indeed. “The five of you already know what’s been happening lately. Voldemort is gathering more followers every day, and the Ministry is beginning to listen. You’ve seen the new laws.”

                “Load of absolute filth,” Moody snarled. His eyes darted all over the room, like he was checking for Death Eaters.

                “All five of you have shown great initiative in working against Voldemort and his ilk. I am gathering a group of people who are ready to fight by all means necessary to protect wizard kind from Voldemort.”

                “I’m in,” Lily said immediately.

                “Miss Evans, you do need to think about it—”

                “I’ve been thinking about it for months, Professor. There’s nothing for me after school because my parents aren’t magic. And I don’t want to just go back to the Muggle world. I have the right to be here. I’m willing to fight for it. I know I’m not grand at duelling—”

                “Weren’t you the girl that dumped water on Voldemort?” Moody interrupted her.

                “That was sort of an accident,” Lily admitted. “I never thought it would land on him. But I’d happily do it on purpose. And I know lots of charms and potions, I could help that way.”

                “We’re going to need potions,” Gideon said. “We have families to protect, and Polyjuice might make things less risky.”

                “We’re in as well,” James said. He didn’t need to look at his brothers; he knew that he spoke for all of them. “We want this git pulled down.”

                Dumbledore smiled, but it was weary. “Do think about it, though. You are all very young, and this will be dangerous.”

                “It’s dangerous to do nothing, too,” James said. “That’s why we’re in this mess; too many people did nothing.”

                “Good lad.” That was a man James had never seen before. He stretched out a dark hand. “I’m Kingsley Shacklebolt, I work with Alastor in the Auror department.”

                “James Potter. Pleasure. So…what do we do now?”

                “Are there any other students in your year that you think would be good for this type of effort?”

                James thought about it. “Frank Longbottom’s a good bloke, and he’s been very loud about how much he hates Voldemort. He’s going to be an Auror.”

                “So’s Alice,” Lily said. “And Marlene MacKinnon’s cousin went missing last week. She’s ready to burn the world down if it means she gets revenge.”

                “Meet with them, then,” Dumbledore instructed them. “See what they can do.”

                By the time NEWTs were over, the Order was finalized. Lily took a job at the Apothecary, and James started doing some charity work, investing money into different projects. It had to be obvious that they were doing something with their time. Lily moved in with the Marauders, the Prewett twins built a meeting place, and Alice and Frank got married.

                That made James think about rings, but he and Lily had only been going out for six months, that wasn’t near enough time to propose marriage. He was happy to have her in his bed, at his side when they fought together, flying at night. The only time they didn’t spend together were full moons, because Lily wasn’t an Animagus yet. “I’ll learn it,” she promised.

                The words in the paper grew uglier, and now people weren’t just going missing, they were being arrested for crimes against the wizarding society. The lucky ones ended up in Azkaban. The names of the unlucky ones were added to a growing list, because they deserved to be honoured by the Order.

                But then something happened that shook James to his core, that shook his family to the core.

                His parents fell ill.

                It was the Cough, and they were both older, and they were inseparable, so they got it together. James and Sirius took turns sitting in St. Mungo’s between missions, and Lily came with him one time. That was the night that one of the Healers told James that his parents weren’t going to get better, and that it would be kinder to let them live out their days at home.

                That night Lily had a long conversation with his parents, which James missed because he was called out to a fight in the lobby. It turned out to be nothing, and when he got back Lily took his hands. And then she knelt.

                “James Potter, we’ve got no idea whether we’re going to live or die, but I know I want to spend every single day with you until then. And your mum and dad…they have a deadline. Will you marry me?”

                The proposal made James cry, partly with joy and partly with pain.

                They had to throw a wedding together in less than a week, but Alice lent Lily her dress and Sirius organized a riotous stag party (which, yes, did end with him in stag form—it was a brilliant choice because stags couldn’t get hangovers). Lily’s parents drove up to London, and James let Lily cry into his shoulder because Petunia and her ridiculous husband weren’t with them.

                And that day, when James walked down with his frail parents, and Lily followed with hers, and Sirius managed not to lose the simple golden bands studded with emeralds, and Lily was so beautiful in her white dress and they smiled in their pictures because something as simple as a wedding could still happen.

                They did go away to the tropics for a few days, just long enough for James to get a stupidly dark tan and Lily to get terrifically sunburnt. It was relaxing to not have to carry their wands, and swim and have sex when they wanted and cuddle when they wanted.

                When they got back, they stayed with James’ parents, along with the Marauders. James and Lily were still on ‘honeymoon’ leave, but Remus and Peter quietly covered Sirius’ shifts. The three were all there together when James’ parents died.

                Now James was an eighteen year old orphan with a wife in the middle of a war. It hurt, of course it did. But the war did distract him from his heartache, and Lily was wonderful.

                The next year things just kept getting worse. It was obvious that Voldemort was gaining power more quickly than the Order gained supporters. There were too many of them in government, too many of them who were influencers, too many with power. Fighting the Death Eaters in their stupid cloaks and hats was easy, but when the fight ended and both sides retreated, the Death Eaters could take them off and go back to their jobs. If anyone was the wiser, they were too scared to say anything.

                It was easy to be discouraged, easy to sit and grieve the loss of normalcy. And when Order members began to die—when the fight moved beyond curses to Unforgiveables—James wondered very briefly if there was any point to trying. No matter what they did, they kept losing. Why not just give up?

                He never voiced that worry, because the day he was going to bring it up, Lily ran into their room and burst into tears.

                “I’m pregnant.”

                At first James thought she was joking. She _had_ to be; they so rarely made love anymore it was easy to be careful. For Merlin’s sake, they used protection every single time. _Every_ time.

                But Lily was indeed pregnant; Madam Pomfrey confirmed it. Lily curled trembling in James’ arms, her stomach still flat that chilly November day. Madam Pomfrey looked between them, and gently offered another option.

                “You could end this pregnancy, Lily. If you don’t want a child. I know that you’re involved in the war. You can think about it.”

                They stayed up all night talking, and in the morning they went to an Order meeting. Lily announced her pregnancy, and Alice burst into tears and announced hers. James and Frank shared a look of genuine understanding.

                Lily and Alice didn’t go out to fight anymore, but they were always at Headquarters, so they were still involved. James kept fighting, realizing that he had a little life to fight for now, one that would be helpless. That fight took him away from Lily far too often, and he nearly missed his child’s birth because of it. But when little Harry James lay in his arms, James knew it was worth it. He would do anything for his son.

                They had one beautiful, quiet month. He and Lily went away with Frank and Alice and little Neville, and they didn’t sleep much and spent a lot of time walking the floors at night and watched the little boys slowly learn the world. The Marauders came to stay for the last week, and Sirius cooed over both of them and Remus helped take care of Lily and Alice and Peter quietly ran errands.

                They were all there the day Dumbledore showed up, his face grave and sad, and told them about the prophecy.

                James would have screamed, but he knew he would wake the boys. _It’s not fair_ , he wanted to shout. _It’s not fucking fair that us fighting is going to put our sons in danger._

                Hearing that Neville was safe was a relief as much as hearing that Harry was chosen by Voldemort hurt. Alice sobbed, but Lily just stayed quiet. The only thing she asked Dumbledore was whether they could be spared from the fight.

                It wasn’t the best timing, because Fabian and Gideon had just died, and Voldemort’s attacks had increased, but Dumbledore nodded.

                Lily didn’t speak again the rest of the day. She took care of Harry, and held him close to her the entire time, but she didn’t say a word.

                James knew her well enough by now to make the others leave her be, and to bring her to bed when it got dark, with Sirius and Remus promising to look after Harry that night. He laid her down on the bed, and he laid down next to her and waited.

                It didn’t take long for the sobbing screams to break from her, for Lily to writhe desperately and call out desperate prayers. James couldn’t hold her when she got like this, she always felt so guilty when she hurt him. All he could do was hold her hand, ignore the crunch of bones, and wait.

                Eventually Lily exhausted herself and curled into him, and they talked. Going into hiding abroad was an option, but it would be so dangerous. Their evacuation procedures were risky as it was, and if Voldemort got even a hint that Harry was with them…especially now that he thought Harry would be the end of him…no loyalty could ever be enough.

                Except family. So the next morning James and Lily went downstairs and they asked Sirius to be their Secret Keeper. It was a very different conversation from when they asked him to be godfather, because Sirius didn’t cry then. Now Sirius wept and held Harry tightly, and promised.

                So they went into hiding in Godric’s Hollow. Lily struck up quiet friendships with Muggles in the town, reasoning (fairly) that Voldemort would never think to ask them. But James just…couldn’t. Lily could give a false name and coo over other babies, but James was James. He was fine being with Lily and Harry, and being ‘Barney Evans’ wasn’t his cup of tea. He spent more time with Bathilda Bagshot or in the house, dealing with Order business from afar. It was driving him mad, reading reports of fights instead of being in them, but one look at his tiny son reminded him why. And he still had his Invisibility Cloak, so he could still go and visit his brothers. He never missed a full moon. Lily went on trips too, and James spent that time with Harry on the floor, watching his son play and turning into a stag to make Harry laugh, doing his best to make sure Harry didn’t feel any of the fear, any of the pain in the house. Sometimes he dreamed of the end of the war, when they could give Harry brothers and sisters. It was too dangerous now, but James was willing to have as many children as Lily wanted. He’d even started to look into taking a potion that would allow him to bear children. But that would have to wait for Voldemort to be gone. For now, it was bearable.

                That was until Dumbledore asked to borrow the Cloak. It was a wrench to give it up, because at the same time it became too dangerous to even go outside. ‘Amy Evans’ moved away, and Lily returned to the cottage for good. Their only contact with the outside world was with Bathilda Bagshot (who hated Voldemort with an incredible passion) or when their brothers visited or sent letters, each one more depressing than the last.

                Then one day Sirius showed up with his arms covered in bandages, Peter by his side.

                “I can’t be your Secret Keeper anymore,” Sirius said hoarsely.

                Apparently Voldemort himself had mounted an attack on their new headquarters (Marlene MacKinnon’s old house, empty after her murder). He’d cornered Sirius, demanding to know where James and Lily were. Only Peter’s quick actions had saved him from being killed.

                “He knows how close we are, James,” Sirius said. His face twisted with grief. “Regulus must have told him before—before he was killed. And he knows how hard I’d fight for all three of you. But Peter hasn’t been fighting much lately, and he can go and hide with his Mum.”

                James looked between his friends helplessly. Lily had Harry in her arms, her hair falling around the baby like a curtain.

                “Peter, are you sure? This will put you in a lot of danger.”

                Peter just nodded. “You’re my family. I’ll protect you.”

                So the switch was done, and it was late October now, and they decorated for Halloween inside the house. Harry could stand on his own now and walk a little bit, and Voldemort had suddenly gone quiet. Maybe, just maybe, things would be okay for a little while.

                And then Halloween night when it was Lily’s turn to put Harry to bed, James stopped making coloured smoke appear and laid down on the couch, putting his wand down.

                When the door burst open a second later, James didn’t even grab his wand. It took a few seconds to understand what it meant—that Peter had betrayed them, because he was in hiding and couldn’t have been found, Dumbledore had promised.

                And James was responsible.

                Screaming for Lily to run, he dashed into the hall. He could slow Voldemort down if he transformed; a surprise stag appearance was bound to buy her a few seconds.

                But James, who’d learnt the form for his family, who’d fought all this time for his family, couldn’t transform quickly enough. Emotions could tether you to your human form, and the grief of the betrayal froze him.

                In the two seconds before he died, James understood that. And he understood that there wasn’t time to grab his wand. All he could do was buy his wife and son a few seconds.

                He stood firm, facing a laughing Voldemort…

                And then there was a green flash, and he was gone.

               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this got incredibly long! But I wanted to figure out how James went from 'arrogant toerag' to 'willing to die', and I guess I realized that it wasn't a journey exactly--more a shifting of priorities.   
> And yes, I know it's late, but I graduated today and yesterday was in a tizzy.   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	12. Nightlight (Luna Lovegood)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luna recovers her brightness one tattoo, one lover, one child at a time.

Luna Lovegood starts getting tattoos after the war. She gets dozens of moons, and she doesn’t give a damn whether people think it’s ‘cutesy’ or ‘ironic’. She’s always loved the moon.

Some of them are crescents; some half-moons, some full moons. They’re every different colour, and she gets her lovers to design ones when they leave each other. Rolf’s tattoo—the last one, so far—is on her inner thigh, the most intimately placed one she has.

Except, of course, for the only two that are not moons.  Those are suns, ones for Lorcan, and one for Lysander, one on each breast. They were designed while the twins were still inside her, and done a few days after they were born by Dean Thomas. Lorcan’s is bold and bright, a sun with wreaths of flames and a bold, blue centre. Lysander’s is outlined with purples and reds, with swirling orange and yellow patterns inside. If you look closely (as very few do), you can see eyes in the design; looking down towards both babies as they nursed, and later her children when she held them. Neither of Luna’s sons ever grow taller than her.

Luna approaches motherhood carefully—she wanted her sons badly, but she knew too well how easily someone could be hurt by careless words and deeds. And there are moments when she felt too thin, stretched and cold, after the war. She wanted to be warm for her children, so she tries her best to feel full, to bring the sun back into her life.

She learns to sing for her twins, and there are long hours when they were a brand new family, sitting under a tree with the babies lying on soft blankets and Luna singing, telling stories through song. She sings happy songs for Lorcan, funny songs for Lysander, and tender ones for Rolf.

But there are songs for herself that Luna saves for quiet full moons, when she sits alone in a tree overlooking the house, singing high, pure notes without words. There are other songs she saves for early mornings (she’s always up before everyone else), when she’s quiet but hums because she’s happy, happy that she has people to care for, and who care about her.

Some of her healing comes in songs that she saves for stormy nights, when thunder and lightning shatter the calm, when the wind whips her hair into a frenzy of drowned sunlight. Those songs are sometimes screams, sometimes sobs, but they leave her feeling drained. Rolf leaves her be, lets her come into the house and shower until she’s warm again, lets her wear the fluffiest robe she owns, lets her lie down beside him without speaking, without touching. In the morning she’ll curl up with him and they’ll plan a trip or play games with the twins, but Luna needs time to wind down.

When it comes to the Weasleys, Luna is delighted to call them family. Ron learns to be kinder with her, and the others learn to accept her eccentricities. She herself learns to understand that not everything her father said was true, and she starts to look at herself from the outside. This isn’t an exercise in cruelty—more that she wants to spend some time thinking how Ginny sees her, how Harry sees her, how the many children see her. It doesn’t make her change, but seeing herself through the clear-eyed vision of an accepting loved one helps her understand the best parts of herself.

Luna never stops travelling, and she never stops painting. She sells her art and uses it to fund young travellers—Nicky and Lara are the first to get one of her grants. She shares teaching duties with Hagrid for a few years, teaching Care of Magical Creatures. She wanders the Forbidden Forest at last (she was always too frightened as a student to venture too far in), and speaks to the centaurs and confirms that there are no werewolves, but there certainly are _plenty_ of pixies. When she comes out, some of the parents ask her if she dealt with the creatures.

Luna did make deals, but it was for the safety of the students. The Forest was their territory, after all, long before Hogwarts even existed. Soon a line is drawn in thick branches and beautiful flowers, and the students may go that far. Some ask if they can go farther, and Luna guides them, introducing them to magical creatures and explaining how they live, and how to live with them with respect.

It was the greatest lesson her father ever taught her, and she will pass it on. That will be his legacy.

Pandora Lovegood’s legacy lies in Luna’s voice and her art. 

But Luna’s legacy? She’s not quite sure what that will be. For now, she will sing, she will paint, she will explore, and she will guide the young along the confusing paths, helping them to find their own way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I can't draw, but I am going to try my hand at some of Luna's tattoos--who knows? I might actually put them up on tumblr!  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	13. Stages (Petunia Dursley)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If there's one thing Petunia Evans Dursley understands, it's grief.

Petunia was familiar with the five stages of grief.

After all, she’d lost her sister at the age of thirteen.

_Denial_ came with writing the letter, pleading that Lily wasn’t a freak, that maybe it was something good, to be a witch.

_Anger_ happened in that forest with Lily and the horrible boy, feeling the branch strike her and realizing that her sister had crossed over. That Lily didn’t need her anymore, and she wasn’t allowed to have a place there. Well, that was fine: Lily was clearly going to be a freak.

_Bargaining_ while Lily was away at school, reading letters that sounded like any other school—friends and houses and lessons, and maybe, just maybe, Lily would come back and be her sister again, be tired of being freakish.

_Depression_ came when Lily was fourteen and Petunia was sixteen. Lily came home for the summer and didn’t speak to Petunia at all for three weeks, all because she overheard a conversation about Lily ‘never going to have a future if she’s a freak’.

(She didn’t know that Lily was starting to hear the same thing at school, with a different context but the same disparaging of what she was, but that was no excuse).

_Acceptance_ came the day that Vernon proposed; well, it came the day after. Petunia woke up, giddy about the shining ring on her finger, called Vernon to settle a date, helped her mother with canning and helped take care of her father, who was starting to get sick. It wasn’t until evening that she realized that she had no desire to call her sister—well, write to her. Lily didn’t have a phone in her freak household.

So Petunia lost her sister, and lived with that for the next three years. She invited Lily to her wedding, but Lily made some excuse about ‘her best friend having monthly issues’; Lily invited her to hers, but Petunia refused to go. Petunia did send a birth announcement when Dudley was born, and Lily sent back a card and a toy, both of which Petunia threw out. They both went to their parents’ joint funerals (both knowing that their mother had likely ended her life a few hours after their father died, and refusing to talk about it), two weeks later. Only a month later, Lily sent a birth announcement of her own. Petunia saw her nephew’s name, and she saw a little scrunched up face that didn’t look at all like Lily. That made it easier to ignore, to take her sister out of her consideration (forget that there was a child out there with her blood too, one she’d always imagined could bring her and Lily together)…No, Lily was dead to her, and the child didn’t matter.

And then Harry Potter landed on her doorstep, and Petunia couldn’t grieve her sister, because Lily wasn’t really her sister anymore. But there was a living child in front of her, and giving him into care would betray every part of her that once loved Lily.

_Acceptance_ was hard, because Vernon was so frightened by the baby and the story that brought him to their home. “If some freak murdered your sister and tried to kill her baby, won’t they come for us?”

Petunia, who thought Vernon was right to be concerned, swallowed her own fear. “Voldemort is dead, according to this letter. And if anyone comes looking…no one will expect us to fight.”

But as she laid Harry in a hastily-purchased bassinet, she knew that she would fight, if for no other reason than to protect her own son.

And for the first two years Harry was with them, it seemed that things would be alright. Dudley didn’t like Harry much, but they were such little boys, and it was reasonably easy to tend to them both equally. Harry walked more quickly than Dudley, but he helped his cousin every once in a while. Nothing freakish happened, and Petunia and Vernon both hoped that there was nothing magical about this child. Maybe, just maybe, things would be alright.

Then Harry turned four, and while playing with Dudley in the garden he cleaned his clothes of dirt completely when Petunia yelled at him. All the child had to do was clap his hands and he was clean.

So Petunia fell into _Depression,_ because she felt like she failed. Some part of her wanted to save Harry from being a freak, give Lily’s son a chance to be normal and happy. And perhaps she still could, but there was a great deal to change. She told the boys they wouldn’t be sharing a room anymore, and brought Harry down to the cupboard.

_Bargaining_ was difficult, because no matter what they tried, Harry’s magic continued to grow. Not threats, not punishment, not even the few times when Vernon was away and Petunia tried to be kinder to Harry, to explain that the way he was going, he would never be happy…nothing stopped the magic. Petunia had never loved the child, but hatred grew at last because he was all she had left of her sister, he reminded her _so much_ of her sister, but he was just as much of a freak.

_Anger_ became Petunia’s permanent state of mind when Harry went off to Hogwarts. She ignored every owl except the ones where Harry confirmed he wouldn’t be back for the holidays and never reached out to this _wizard_ she was forced to house. Every time something went wrong, every time the magical intruded into their home, and when the worst happened and Voldemort returned, Petunia’s rage grew stronger. Taking it out on Harry grew more difficult every year because Harry grew more powerful, he had more support outside, and he just grew more _like Lily._

Finally, they had to go into hiding, and it was all because of Harry. Petunia watched her son say goodbye to his cousin, saw the genuine concern in Dudley’s face, and for a moment there was an apology on her lips. She saw the two little boys for a second behind the frightened teenagers, saw the way they once had a future. Maybe they could have it now.

But she wasn’t strong enough.

So she stepped out of her home, got into the car with her husband and son. They were her only family, after all.

_Denial_ set in at last, and Petunia lost her nephew.

Then again, was he ever hers in the first place?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petunia always seemed to be in a lot of pain to me; that doesn't excuse any of her actions AT ALL, but I think that pain informs them to a point that she can't always control.   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	14. Beauty In Motion (Fleur Delacour)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fleur's beauty defines her life in many different ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a brief mention of pedophilia.

Fleur always took her beauty as a matter of fact. Of course she was beautiful. Maman was beautiful, and so was Papa in his way. And her sister, when born, was also beautiful. It all made sense.   
Fleur loved art with a passion; anything was beautiful if effort was obvious. Her birthday treat was always walking through Parisian art galleries, starting with the Louvre.   
When she went to Beauxbatons, Fleur drank in the beautiful grounds and set her mind to work. Magic became art for her, casting her way through problems and making solutions that were beautiful.   
Then the day came when she stopped being a ‘beautiful kid’ to a ‘hot piece’.   
Well, the French words for that were different, but by the time Fleur felt comfortable with her husband and told him this story, the English felt more expressive.   
(One of the few times that was true).   
Suddenly everyone wanted to sleep with her, everyone thought she was attractive and whispered. Fleur knew that she was part Veela, but the idea that she was so attractive people literally fought duels for her in the hallways was shocking, especially since they were perfect strangers to her.   
But when a teacher started making the comments, Fleur got scared.   
She ran to Madame Maxime. After the teacher was chased from the grounds into the arms of the Gens-Baguettes, Madame Maxime taught her about ways to ensure she was safe.   
“If they fear you, Fleur, they won’t lust after you the same ways.”   
Fleur wanted to say that it wasn’t fair, that she shouldn’t have to make the effort, but life isn’t fair, and she knew it. No point wishing for a better world; it would be much better to focus on what was in front of her.   
So Fleur wore her beauty like armor, and withdrew somewhat. She was always kind when people asked her out, saying that they weren’t compatible, and ignored the whispers. She didn’t get many friends this way, and by the time she travelled to Hogwarts for the Tri-Wizard tournament, she was ready to meet new people, hoping that she could find some kind of happiness.   
It was lonely when you were always protecting yourself.   
The tournament was challenging, and it took years to forgive herself for not getting to Gabrielle in time. Her little sister wasn’t bothered, and kept telling Fleur not to make a fuss, but it didn’t stop it.   
Then the Third Task came, and suddenly Cedric—a good, kind boy who’d never made her feel afraid—was dead, and Harry Potter was telling everyone that Voldemort was back.   
And Fleur believed him. Maybe it was because she knew what it was like to face a world that believed the worst of you, or maybe it was because he was a child grown up too early, and she remembered that. Also, why would he lie about something like that?   
It came time to return to Beauxbatons, and Fleur obediently went, but only to graduate. Her parents were concerned when she told them that she wanted to return to Britain to help with the war effort. “Cherie, it could be very dangerous,” her father said.  
“I know, Papa. But I can’t sit by and do nothing. I want to help. And this is a job where my beauty doesn’t matter.”   
Her father held her. “I’m so sorry that you and your sister hate your beauty so much.”   
“I don’t hate it, Papa. I just want to be more than beautiful.” That way she could protect herself even better.   
London was a strange city, difficult to navigate for someone much more used to small-town France. Even Paris didn’t have this…urgency. Fleur paced around her apartment for three days, too afraid to go outside.   
On the third day, there was a knock on the door.  
Fleur opened it to a tall man with earrings and long red hair.   
“Hello, I’m Bill Weasley. I’m Ron’s older brother. Professor Dumbledore sent me to bring you up to speed.”   
That was the beginning of the rest of Fleur’s life. Because she’d had a near to idyllic childhood, and even when she was at her loneliest at Beauxbatons, she was still content to be at her lovely school.   
But through the war years, Fleur lived a different life, where every moment was precious, where there was danger at every turn, where feelings developed over a rickety table in a small apartment, poring over English grammar.   
Fleur wasn’t sure why she fell in love with Bill. In some ways, he was very like other boys she’d met; confident, charming, a good listener and funny. But Bill had a patience in his tone, a maturity that Fleur had never heard before. On top of that, he was attracted to her (she could always tell), but never pushed. And for that, she was grateful. He was also insistent that if he was teaching her English, she had to teach him French. He picked up French much faster than she learned English, and soon they spoke a strange mishmash of English and French when they were alone.   
But it was the day she finally worked up the courage to tell him her biggest secret that she knew her heart, and knew his. It was a secret she’d kept since she was twelve years old, when everyone started to look at her, and it was something that she’d never told anyone, not even her parents.   
“I don’t experience attraction,” she told him one night. It was a week before the Battle at the Department of Mysteries (though neither of them knew that, of course). “I think something might be wrong with me.”   
“I don’t think so,” was Bill’s stunning response. “My brother Charlie is like that.”   
Fleur stunned herself by bursting into tears. “Vraiment?”   
“Yes.” Bill took her hands, and waited for her to gather herself. “I dunno if there’s a word for it at all, but Charlie said he’s always been that way. He didn’t understand what all the fuss was about.”   
Fleur tried to process that information. “So there’s nothing wrong with me?”  
“Charlie seems fine to me, and he’s happy too. He loves his work, and he has us and his friends over there. I don’t think he wants love either.”   
“Oh, I want that,” Fleur blurted out. “And…and babies. I love children. And I know how children are made—I could do that.”   
Bill smiled at her. “Then you should look for that. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life, and for you to be the mother of their children.”   
Fleur looked at Bill, her eyes moving over his face, his hair, his body. Sometimes she did feel a flicker of what she assumed attraction felt like, and she felt it now for Bill.   
“Would you have me?” she asked.  
Bill looked at her with soft eyes. Then he raised her hands to his mouth, and kissed them both. “I would, but I have something to tell you as well.”   
“What is it?” Fleur asked. Her heart started pounding again, because of course it did. It always did when something terrible was about to happen.   
But sometimes it was wrong, like now.   
Because Bill’s secret was that he liked to wear Muggle dresses.   
“I know they look a lot like robes,” he said, “but it’s not robes. It’s a dress, and only women wear them in Muggle society, and that’s….that’s why I wear them.”   
Fleur took hold of Bill’s hands. “Cher, that’s fine with me.”   
“You don’t hate that I dress like a woman sometimes?”   
“Are you hurting yourself or anyone else?”   
“No, of course not.”   
“Then what is the problem? I think you are a good man, and you want to be beautiful sometimes. There’s nothing wrong with that. I will have you, Bill Weasley, if that’s what you want.”   
They didn’t kiss in that moment; their first kiss wasn’t for another several days when Bill kissed her goodbye almost as an afterthought. But Fleur was sure it was the most romantic night of her life.   
Once Voldemort was in the open, and oh, how Fleur ached for Harry, because losing someone right in front of you was too terrible to contemplate, Bill showed up at her door. “I want you to come stay with my family at the Burrow,” he told her. “It’s much safer there, and you can spend more time with them.”   
“Of course. That will be nice before we get married,” Fleur said. She waved her wand and started to pack her things. When she turned, Bill looked slightly stunned.   
“Cher?”   
“We’re…getting married?”   
Fleur went pale. “Aren’t we? That’s what I…what I meant a few weeks ago.”   
Bill kissed her then, his mouth closed. “I love you,” he whispered. “And yes, I will marry you.”   
Fleur was delighted.   
She was less delighted when she stayed at the Burrow. It was obvious that Molly didn’t like her, obvious that (other than Ron, who was adorable) his siblings didn’t like her. And at first, Fleur tried not to let it bother her. She made sure that she stayed true to herself (although she did get snippy sometimes), and tried to help Molly and make her life more easy. Her sons weren’t going to, that’s for sure. But as the months went on, Fleur spent more and more time in her and Bill’s room—well, Bill’s room. Fleur knew she wasn’t welcome, knew that the Weasleys wanted her to go away. But she loved Bill, and he loved her, and he was the only one who mattered. She had her own family, if the Weasleys didn’t love her, then fine.   
She tried to tell herself that when she cried into her pillow when she didn’t get a Weasley jumper.   
The next few months were quiet, and Fleur kept working with the people in France, making sure the right information got to the right people. She wrote to her friends and her sister, and she kept track of the Order members who were travelling overseas.   
Then Dumbledore died, and Bill—Fleur’s heart broke when she looked at her fiance’s shredded face. But she screamed at Molly instead, promising that she would always love Bill, no matter what he looked like.   
And then, somehow, miraculously, Molly offered the goblin-made tiara. And then Fleur fell into her arms, or Molly pulled her in, and they started crying together.   
That night changed absolutely everything, so fast Fleur’s head spun. The next morning Molly sat down with her at the Burrow before they went to visit Bill.   
“I’m so sorry for the way I’ve been acting, Fleur.” Molly said. She held Fleur’s hands in hers. “It’s…well, it’s a lot of things. I know that Bill loves you, but you are both still young, and I didn’t want you to get married just because there was a war on. And I suppose it’s that fear that mothers have sometimes, when their children start to fall in love. And…yes, there was prejudice there. I thought you were more concerned with simpler things, and you are a bit dramatic, and Bill’s never been like that. I just thought that you weren’t the daughter-in-law I would have chosen, and therefore Bill had made a bad choice. That was absolutely hateful of me, and I am so sorry.”   
“I am not innocent, Molly,” Fleur answered. “I was confused at first, and I’ve never—I hate being judged by my beauty. That’s all I’ve ever had, all my life. Bill was the first person who really looked at me as I am. So I held on to that, and made myself cold to you. We both let a bad start ruin any chance of getting to know one another, it seems.”   
“Not forever,” Molly answered, and she patted Fleur’s shoulder.   
So Fleur had an English family now, and she was in the middle of an English war. She and Bill had one day to be happy, their wedding day that went off so beautifully until the end, and then they bolted for Shell Cottage. Their honeymoon was spent decorating their new home and listening anxiously for news.   
She and Bill both fought in the war, but they had to take turns. Someone had to be at the cottage to receive the news, to provide a safe house, to forge documents. Bill went out to work against the curses Death Eaters laid on whole areas, and Fleur went out to lead refugees to the border. She didn’t see her parents, but she always sent a message: Je survis.   
The war ended eventually, and finally her family was back together—mostly, except poor Fred. And Fleur set about making sure that she took care of her family, because she was here now for good. She got several Weasley jumpers and helped the returning refugees find their families. And when Parvati Patil talked to her about a shelter for women, she got the details together and worked there.   
But the war left plenty of trouble and horrible memories, and Fleur was getting tired. She wanted to believe in the future, to make something good in order to justify all of the suffering.   
That’s when she asked Bill for a child.   
Conception was a fascinating experience for Fleur—her body reacted to the pleasure, but her husband was still Bill. Sex didn’t change the way she saw him, and she never asked for sex again until they had Dominique, and then again with Lou.   
Being the first mother of the Weasley clan was frightening but exciting too. She had all the love and support the mothers after her were gifted, but all the challenges of raising children for the first time. How to deal with her daughters being so different? How to raise your children in two different cultures?   
What do you do when your son tells you that they aren’t your son, but your child?   
It took patience, and sometimes it got pushback from the others; Fleur was the first to have a child who was openly so different. Some of the other in-laws (parents of her brothers and sisters, thank goodness, none of them thought that way) wondered whether it was fair to the kids to choose their identity so young—what if they changed their minds? What if they got so confused they didn’t know what to think?   
But Fleur remembered being young, and she knew that changing your mind and dealing with that was better than never getting the chance to make a choice in the first place.   
So she led the charge—let the children choose, and let the parents have their freakouts and questions in private.   
It made her heart warm to watch Lou gain confidence, to see the children asking about pronouns and wearing whatever colours they wanted and dating (or not dating) as they needed. She wasn’t the only parent who made the choice to be so open, of course. But if she’d done anything to make that environment possible, anything at all, that was good work.   
And then she heard the word asexual from Charlie, and Fleur cried again. Because that was a word she could use, if only with Bill. It might have been hypocritical, but Fleur was a very private person. It didn’t make sense to share her sex life with her family. (She didn’t know it, but Harry thought so too—he didn’t talk about his own demisexual identity at all).   
But when James Potter told her that he thought he was asexual, Fleur knew it was time. She didn’t tell very many people still—that was part of who she was. But it was in the open after that, and she, James and Charlie (and later Rose and Harry) would come together and talk about growing up ‘ace’, as James put it. It helped to wash the painful colours from some of Fleur’s memories, and being around people who didn’t expect her to talk about sex, who never mentioned her beauty was cathartic as hell.   
Her proudest moment came later though, when Lou told her that they wanted a different professional name, one that honoured his heritage in a different way.   
“I was born Louis Weasley,” they said. “But now I’m Lou Delacour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I freaking love Fleur--she's the first 'girly-girl' character I loved and understood that there was so much more to her than her looks. But on the other hand her looks (and her Veela background) have influenced her life.   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	15. Love and Loathing (Vernon Dursley)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vernon Dursley is a simple man.

Vernon Dursley loved his wife and son dearly.

He might be rough on the rest of the world, but they were his whole life. When Petunia told him about the wizarding world it terrified him, and he was willing to take her attitude that they were freaks and possibly dangerous, but one of them was her sister. He only met Lily twice, once at her engagement party and once at Petunia’s parents’ funeral. Lily was still pregnant, holding her husband’s hand. She’d tried to hold Dudley, but Vernon had shaken his head. Petunia’s blood she might be, but ‘possibly dangerous’ had no place near his son.

Then the freak’s child came to their doorstep.

It took Petunia’s pleading to let Harry Potter stay with them. Sure, he was only a baby, but he knew from Petunia’s story that he would only become more powerful. Vernon knew a thing or two about how to deal with people he was afraid of. One way was to get more power than them, so that he could feel superior. The other way was to make them afraid.

So Vernon Dursley set out to make Harry Potter as frightened of him as possible. He let Petunia take over any daily care of that child, happily changing Dudley’s diapers and later teaching him to use the potty. He designed the locks on the cupboard, invited Marge as often as possible, and thought of every kind of punishment he could. Most of the time he could ignore the child—there was no rebellion in him.

Then Harry went to school. Nine months of the year it didn’t matter at all; he could pretend the boy was at a school for criminal boys. But the summers were hard, because Vernon slowly grew more afraid, because Harry Potter had found a source of strength, and he wasn’t about to lose it.

Happily, after a ridiculous year in hiding, Vernon could forget all about Harry Potter, and focus on his wife and son. Dudley had moved, but his boy was doing well, and finding out he was a grandfather was the happiest day of Vernon’s life. He and Petunia grew closer too; their empty nest let them focus more energy on each other instead of their son, and Vernon felt like they were falling in love all over again. He was happy, and secure in the knowledge that his family loved him as much as he loved them.

He never knew the way Dudley thought about him, or the many, many people who saw what he was and despised him. He probably wouldn’t have cared, either. Secure in his self-importance, confident in his choices, he never dreamed that there was a whole clan of people who hated him deeply, who never mentioned him or his wife without curses. Until one day he drove up to see Iris while she was home for Christmas, and she told him her girlfriend’s name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might be able to tell, I have some level of sympathy for Vernon Dursley, because I do think that he loves his wife and kid. Hell, they cut his best part out of the OOTP movie: he tries to kick Harry out the moment he finds out Voldemort is back because he's afraid for his family. Yup, he's a terrible, abusive human being. But he's still very much capable of love, and that's going to be important as he faces Iris' news...  
> Look out for that soon, by the way :)  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	16. Making Amends (Dudley Dursley)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a father gives Dudley a chance to face his past and, with any luck, save some children from having his regrets.

For the first seven years of Iris’ life, Dudley watches her anxiously. He’ll still love her if she’s magic, and he’ll fight his parents about every last issue; he won’t let her feel scared. The word freak will never pass his lips.

But when she turns eight, Dudley can’t help but feel relieved. He can’t imagine the kinds of stories that are told in the Wizarding World about his family, and subjecting her to that was never part of his plan.

Instead, something worse happens. Iris comes home with a black eye and trembling lips. It takes her a few tries as Leo holds her and Dudley paces, but it eventually comes out. There were children bothering her for a couple of months, but it escalated. The worst was a kid three full years older than her, who’d knocked her down and called her terrible names.

And Dudley has to explain bullies to his daughter, and to confess that he’d once been a bully too. His heart breaks when his daughter screams at him, and he feels so small when she runs upstairs and slams the door. Leo (who already knew) goes after her. Whatever he says, it seems to work, because Iris comes back down.

They have a long talk that night, and Iris is angry but she listens. And Dudley tells her everything, including how important her other father was to his change. Iris doesn’t quite believe that he was ever cruel to Uncle Harry, but they call him. And Dudley cries, because Harry says yes, Daddy was mean once, but he isn’t any more, because he changed himself for the better.

That’s what gives Dudley an idea.

All of Iris’ bullies are in her school, and most were in her class. Dudley contacts the headmistress, and arranges a time for an assembly. The head’s a bit skeptical at first, but Dudley is patient, and Leo is supportive.

The assembly is hard for Dudley, because he still doesn’t like talking in front of a large group of people, especially children. What if he said the wrong thing and made things worse for Iris? And worse, what if he encouraged the bully in those children?

But he has to try. He needs to show Iris that he’s changed, and he needs to help her the best way he knows how.

And what he knows best, besides his family and food, is bullying.

Dudley talks for an hour that first day. He sits on the floor to make himself less imposing, but he makes eye contact with every child; that was important. It was the first thing he told them. “No one is so terrible that you can’t look them in the eye,” he says. “It’s an easy way to show that you’re a person.”

He tells them everything that made him a bully—his mother’s permission, his father’s encouragement, his own need to get his way, knowing that he wasn’t liked—and he tells them that nothing worked to stop him. “I’m sure sometimes you can stop bullying by telling the teacher or fighting back, and you should try everything you can think of. But until you find the right technique, nothing’s going to work.”

Then he tells them (well, he takes out the Dementors’ existence, because he’s sure that will get Harry in trouble again) what made him stop.

“I had this horrible dream, and I saw the way—the way that other people saw me. I was a fat thug that no one loved and everyone feared. I threw my weight around and never did anything kind for anyone, even for the people I loved. My parents were lying to me, and I was lying to myself. When I woke up I realized that I didn’t want to be that kind of person anymore, but I didn’t know how to help myself. I was alone for the next two years, because I didn’t want to be around my old ‘friends’, and I didn’t hurt anyone, but I wasn’t doing anyone any good either, least of all myself.”

He looks up again, and he met the eyes of every silent student, including his daughter.

“I want you all to understand that you cannot be alone in this. Whether you’re being bullied or you’re a bully, you need someone to see you for what you are, and what you can grow to be. If that’s not your parents, find a friend, talk to a teacher, anyone. And for those of you who are already bullies…” Dudley sighs. “You’re all so young, and I know that it’s hard to understand. I know home might not be an easy place, or you have a bad temper, or you just don’t care what people feel. But you can unlearn that behaviour. You can do that _and still be happy._ I have a husband now I adore, and a daughter I’m grateful for every single day. I have a life I’ve built on my own effort, and not by destroying others. And it’s much better than any happiness I’ve ever had.”

Obviously things don’t change that day—the school doesn’t become empty of bullies, and Iris still hears names thrown at her and her fathers. But Dudley keeps trying, and he keeps talking. They’re draining days at the school (and a few others in the area eventually), and it interferes with his appetite (which does _not_ help with work). But Dudley keeps going, because this is something he can do to help kids like him. Kids who had a darkness that was so, so easy to indulge, but it was so, so easy to drown in it too.

And every day he comes back to his husband and daughter, and he sits and talks with them and there’s enjoyment in quiet moments and good food and great company. And Iris gets in trouble and he and Leo fight, but they come back together without bribes and threats, without violence.

And Dudley is happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of feelings about Dudley and how he grew up, and I know he has his aunt Lily's strength in there somewhere. This is for everyone who has regrets in their pasts; I hope we can all be at peace with them someday, however that may happen.   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	17. Charting A Course (Al Potter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al finds his way by making sure people don't get lost.

Al went by ‘Al’ from the moment his Dad tells him the story of his name. He didn’t want to change his name just to spite two dead men, but even without that strange legacy he _really_ doesn’t like the name Albus. Mum and Dad played along well—even when he was in trouble, it was “ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!”, not like “ _James_ Sirius” or “Lily _Luna!”_

That’s one of the things he and Scorpius bonded over—their ridiculous names. Scorpius is at least somewhat cool—it meant scorpion, as opposed to _bumblebee_. When they got together and realized that they wanted to have children, they decided that they would have nice, normal names that no one else in their family had.

“If we can find a name that isn’t taken yet,” Al grumbled.

Albus never got used to how often people would say that he looked like his dad. Over and over again, _the same people sometimes_ (Dad and Draco commiserated with him and Scorpius about that). He also hated how Dad’s face would get tense when they were out in public and someone recognized him. Dad was always polite, and friendly to people who wanted to be friendly, but sometimes they would ask really stupid and nosy questions. Al started making up answers for fun, and Dad started to play along.

“He’s your son for sure,” he told Mum.

That made Albus feel very pleased indeed. He and Mum weren’t much alike most of the time, but Albus adored her, and being like her in a good way was brilliant, especially when people said it less.

Al realized that he wanted to be a cartographer when he first got to see the Marauder’s Map. Unlike James and Teddy, who were intent on seeing what the map could be used for, Albus was intensely curious about how the map was made. At first he peppered his dad with questions, and then Uncle George, but neither of them knew.

So Al asked the map itself.

After several minutes screaming at Wormtail, he discovered that the spirits in the map were not the grown men, but the boys. That’s why Wormtail didn’t understand the name ‘traitor’, and Prongs was confused by the idea that he has a son.

So Al left it as is, and talked to the four boys instead. They were funny, and when they started to trust him they told him all they knew. Moony told him all the best books on making maps, Prongs gave him tips on pacing things out and drawing to scale, and Padfoot told him stories about how he found all the secrets (and rants about the _bloody stupid_ Room of Requirement and how it wouldn’t stay put, so they gave up). Wormtail mostly agreed with the others, but sometimes he tells Al to get some sleep and to have a snack.

That helped Al to understand the fourth boy more clearly. Only Dad had ever spoken of Peter Pettigrew with anything other than hate, and it was pity. But in the map Al found a boy who was unsure of himself, who wanted to find his place in the world, and thought it was with his friends, who he owed everything to.

Betrayal was betrayal, but Al started to understand the price he must have paid for his life.

Al began to draw his own maps, of the house at Grimmauld Place, Scorp’s house, even parts of the Forbidden Forest that weren’t covered by the map. He listened intently to cousin Nicky’s stories of her travels, and one summer begged to go along. His parents agreed on the condition that no cursebreaking be done. Al followed Nicky and Lara through a jungle, making maps along the way, trying to capture the brilliant colours and possible dangers.

When it came time for NEWTS, Al took every one that he could. While map-making itself wasn’t an obvious career choice, Al knew that he wanted to do it, and do it while travelling like mad. It would take him away from Scorpius at some point, but he could start in Britain. Even then, he wanted to be ready for anything. The world wasn’t always a friendly place, as Nicky and Aunt Luna had explained from their travels.

But that didn’t matter to Al, he was so excited. There was a world out there that people didn’t know, that _he_ didn’t know. And he could put that on parchment and make it real and show the world to anyone. He started planning trips early in the school year, especially one that he and Scorpius would take together right after graduation, and spend two weeks on each continent.

There was one thing Albus promised himself he would never do. As he grew older, his maps became more and more sophisticated, more detailed and more magical (eventually he digitized them, which opened up a whole new realm of possibilities). But his maps never contained his personality in any way, and there was never any trace of footprints.

The world could be known, but people needed privacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is short, but any more detail and it was going to get into spoiler mode for Tearing, so...y'all are gonna have to wait to see more about this specky scrawny lad post-Hogwarts.  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	18. Difficult Love (Lucius Malfoy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius Malfoy is proud of his blood and his name, but he is a father first. Now he just has to become a good one.

Lucius never wanted to be Harry Potter’s family.

He certainly didn’t want to be in-laws with Arthur Weasley.

But love makes you do things you really don’t want.

Voldemort understood that better than Dumbledore imagined. When Lucius married Narcissa, the Dark Lord attended the wedding and brought the couple several beautiful gifts.

“May you be blessed with many children,” he murmured to Lucius.

Lucius knew he needed an heir, and so did Narcissa. Having sex was a necessity, and the fact that they enjoyed it was secondary. Still, when Narcissa told him that she was expecting, Lucius felt love he’d never expected swell inside his chest.

But that child never lived. Narcissa grew desperately ill, and even Lord Voldemort couldn’t save the fetus.

“I am so sorry, Lucius. Stay with your wife. Seek comfort in each other, and I hope you won’t hesitate to try again. It would be a shame to deny another child the right to live.”

Lucius missed five months of missions, working from home while he could, trying to soothe Narcissa’s pain. “The baby wasn’t meant to live,” he told her. “It hurts, I know it does. But perhaps they are in a better place.”

The loss brought them closer, gave them something in common. And soon Narcissa was pregnant again, and Lucius had no missions, only to stay home and help care for his wife. As wonderful as that was, there was no need for him to do so; little Draco was born healthy. All of the Death Eaters rejoiced, and Bellatrix actually kissed Lucius on the cheek, and welcomed him to the family. Lucius bit his tongue and pretended that she hadn’t insulted the Malfoys.

Being a father was an interesting experience. Lucius just saw the child once a day to say goodnight, and let Narcissa get on with the rest. She didn’t want a nanny, though Dobby helped to care for the baby when she was too tired. It was fascinating watching Draco grow, but he kept his distance.

There was more here than just his own understanding of how parenting was done. The Dark Lord was delighted that he was a parent, and wouldn’t send him on any more dangerous missions—“I would never want to risk your life; your son needs his father.” But now, when Lucius questioned the Dark Lord (he was one of the few that could), there were…hints. Hints about Narcissa not looking well, about Draco being so important to the future of their movement. Worries that maybe, if Lucius couldn’t follow orders, perhaps the strain of fatherhood was too much.

Lucius Malfoy was many things, but he wasn’t an idiot.

That was why the day that Voldemort fell, he wept and it wasn’t for sadness.

Bellatrix was raving with grief that day, and Narcissa tried to calm her. Lucius held Draco in his arms, and he made a decision.

“Sister,” he said. “I need to save Narcissa and Draco from the hell that will rain down upon them. I need to pretend I was enchanted, and you cannot betray us. Can you do this?”

And Bellatrix loved her sister, and she agreed, and all the years she spent in Azkaban she never said a word. Lucius managed to reintegrate himself into the Ministry (it was helpful that, as part of Voldemort’s inner circle, he’d seen many of the Ministers with their hoods off), and he devoted himself to being a father.

It never came naturally to him. Narcissa informed him that striking Draco when he’d done wrong was abusive, that it was not the place of a parent to beat their child, and Lucius stopped that very moment. He did care for his boy, loved him as much as he loved Narcissa, but it seemed that Draco behaved better when he shouted, when he pointed out all the ridiculous things the boy wanted to do, wanted to be. Or worse, didn’t want to do, didn’t want to be.

Draco was a Malfoy, and Lucius was bound and determined to make sure his son was worthy of that name.

And then everything started to crumble, and Lucius found himself looking at his seventeen year old son in chains. He and Narcissa were in chains, too. They’d lost the war, and they were going to suffer. It wasn’t nearly as bad as if Voldemort had survived—because Narcissa was the one to check on Potter’s body, Narcissa was the one who’d lied to Voldemort’s face—but Lucius had to live as a loser in the victors’ world.

To his shock, he kept his freedom. He had to work for the first time in his life; he worked under Arthur Weasley, helping to track down and destroy Dark objects. Lucius fully expected Arthur Weasley to abuse that power, to pay him back some of the pain the Malfoys had dealt his family. After all, he’d nearly killed Arthur’s daughter, and Draco had nearly killed Arthur’s youngest son.

But Arthur Weasley was quiet and patient instead, and he treated Lucius much like he had during the war. That uneasy truce the two of them had shared during those long days as frightened fathers, the careful politeness, the understanding that there were larger forces at work around them, forces that were changing their children. Lucius never mentioned Fred Weasley’s name, and Arthur never called him a Death Eater. They managed.

Lucius was happy to see Draco flourish, even as he seethed because it came from the Weasley clan (and Potter, but Potter was nearly a Weasley himself by now). It killed part of him to see his son become closer to that group, because they would never accept Draco. Not really; they would always hate him, and it was simply convenient for them to pity him in the moment.

Lucius liked Astoria much better. She was a pureblood girl, a Slytherin girl, and she took care of his boy well. She was more…open-minded than Lucius liked, but she and Draco weren’t close before the war—they’d never really crossed paths apparently. She was a new start, and Lucius was happy.

Then Scorpius, sweet little Scorpius with his big eyes and floppy hair, was born, and Lucius entered a new kind of hell.

Watching Draco spend hours in the nursery, watching over his son…coming home from work early, taking entire days off to bring his son out to the gardens or to a fair…talking to him firmly and punishing him with fairness when he did the wrong thing, but always assuring him that it was a mistake and he still loved Scorpius, of course he did…

Where had Draco learned to do all of that?

It sure as hell hadn’t come from Lucius.

Every day that Lucius saw Scorpius he was vividly reminded of Draco at a similar age, reminded of a boy he’d been so cold to, a boy that was more likely to go to Narcissa than him for advice, for comfort, for love. Astoria was a fine mother, but Scorpius was a bit more likely to be found with his dear Da. On top of that, Scorpius _loved_ the Weasleys, and spent many a day with the children, Albus Potter especially. He even came over at Christmas, proudly wearing a Weasley jumper that matched his parents’.

Whoever had designed this punishment—seeing his son be so much better than he had ever been, knowing it was too late to fix his own mistakes—well, Lucius had to give them credit. It was a worse torture than anything Lord Voldemort had ever devised.

But even in this punishment, there was grace, and it came when Scorpius was thirteen and in love with Albus Potter.

That was the first day Lucius truly understood how broken his beliefs were. He listened in astonishment as Draco and Scorpius outlined an entirely different view of the last thirteen years. His son and grandson had truly been accepted by the Weasleys, a family Lucius despised, and they were happy.

Meanwhile Draco still looked at him with trepidation, and Scorpius flinched from him. And Draco still had to face the consequences of his tattoo, the same one Lucius had. He’d taught his son _nothing_ valuable; meanwhile, Draco was friends with many of the same people Lucius had always believed to be inferior.

What the hell was wrong with him, then?

Lucius made two vows that day, and he knew he had to keep them. _He was going to learn to let go of his beliefs, and he would be a better father._

He threw himself into research, reading through books written by Mud—Muggleborns, _Muggleborns,_ looking through history in a brand new way, forcing himself to keep an open mind. It wasn’t easy, it was fucking _difficult_. Lucius didn’t want to accept that his blood didn’t automatically make him better, that magic was a gift that anyone could have…He didn’t want to admit that he’d taken part in something evil by its own nature…

But he had. He really had, and he’d hurt people for no good reason.

Lucius started to see the people looked at him for the first time, because it mattered for the first time. He saw the distrust, the fear, the contempt. He bit his tongue, because for the first time he understood that those reactions weren’t something to be proud of.

If that understanding was hard, being a better father was even harder.

Lucius had ignored Draco’s prison reforms, because so many of his old friends (and ex-lovers) were there under his son’s rule. It felt disloyal, but it was so important to Draco, and Lucius saw that it worked (and it was so much better than Azkaban), and so he looked into it. He read every last one of the Quibbler’s articles about the prison, read all of the Daily Prophet articles, and he went and spoke to Gregory Goyle about his experience. Lucius got a handle on the philosophy behind the prison, and he could finally talk to Draco about it.

But the rest of the job was harder to pin down. He and Draco didn’t spend much time together already—certainly not one on one. And Lucius had spent the last twenty one years tolerating or flat out ignoring the vast majority of Draco’s life.

In desperation, Lucius went to Arthur Weasley, who’d raised six sons. Surely he could give him some advice, if only on how to speak properly.

To his everlasting shock, Arthur sat him down and told him about Draco. Twenty one years worth of observations of a man whose father he hated, of a man that was his family.

They spoke for four hours that day, and Lucius went home with a more complete picture of his son than he’d ever had.

The next day, Lucius took Draco out to the country. The old Malfoy summer home hadn’t been seized, and it was still in great condition (it helped to have an architect for a daughter in law). And they spent the entire day talking and asking questions and there were moments when Lucius wept, because his son’s pain was raw and he’d wasted so much fucking time.

It never really got easier to be a good father. He and Arthur Weasley never spoke again on the subject, and he never engaged with the rest of the Weasleys. He also didn’t completely change his way of thinking. That was never going to happen; some habits can’t be broken.

But Lucius would keep his vow, because Draco was the most important person in his life, and he was blessed with his son. It was past time to make sure that Draco knew that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you will see some references to 'Draco Malfoy is a good future father-in-law 2020'. Lucius' real self-improvement starts shortly afterwards. His redemption will take much longer than his son's, but who knows? He just might make it.   
> Maybe.   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	19. Petals and Potions (Lily Evans Potter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily Evans had a lot of love to give in her short life.

Lily had always wanted a big family.

Of course it made sense that her parents only had two children, but she secretly wished for more sisters, more brothers…more family.

Perhaps that’s why she’d clung to Severus for so long, when Tuney turned away from her. He was the only part of her childhood that still counted, her friend, her brother.

That, and she was afraid.

The teachers did their best to protect her and the other Muggleborns, but the outside world existed, and the Death Eaters were rising. Lily found herself struggling to walk in Diagon Alley without hearing slurs (how did they _know_ ), worrying about her friends when they returned to their Muggle homes…

And she clung to Severus, because he still cared about her, even though he was starting to believe in the Death Eater logic. After all, perhaps she could change him, and if she could convince him, she could convince everyone.

Lily Evans was fifteen years old the day she understood that she couldn’t change Severus. And more than that, she didn’t want to. All she wanted to do was run and hide, because how could she be important enough for anyone to change?

James Potter showed her different. He backed off at last, even asked after Severus. When Lily told him point blank that she didn’t want to be friends with someone who could only see her Blood Status, even if they were _friends_ , he told her flat out that she needed better friends. He suggested she join the Charms club, since she was so good, and Lily was so surprised she actually did it. That was where she met Alice and Hestia and Marlene, and made good friends with them. She still went on patrol with Remus Lupin, and now that Remus didn’t keep telling her that James was a good person, really, Lily enjoyed herself, and even listened to some of his stories about the Marauders and their antics.

The day in Hogsmeade when the Death Eaters came, Lily finally understood how much danger she was really in. It was easy to fight, she hated these people for making her feel broken, but it was so much harder when she saw the flames. If she’d ever hoped that the prejudice would stay words, it died the day she put out flames thrown by a grown man, and was nearly killed by an Unforgiveable Curse.

After she saved James, Lily went to the Hospital Wing. She didn’t want to let him out of her sight, because she saved his life and now she was responsible for him. And when he made her laugh the moment he woke up, Lily decided that she forgave James for being a twit.

And finally, _finally_ , when they were Head Boy and Head Girl together in seventh year, when the war became so terrible McGonagall suggested Lily go to France or America to find work, when Mudblood was said by everyone, even some of the teachers…finally Lily saw that James had a lovely voice. And a very reassuring smile.

And finally, _finally_ , she fell in love with him, and for a moment she was afraid that she was too late, that he’d moved on…but he was still in love with her. That was all she needed to face the dark years.

They were dark, dark years. Lily joined the Order with James and tried to keep her head up at the Apothecary, even when she was let go and walked out in front of a jeering crowd. She married James and buried his parents. They buried friends too, and each loss drove into Lily like a knife, especially while she was pregnant.

When Harry was born, they named Sirius godfather, but Harry had two godmothers, too. Marlene and Alice stood beside her, and they found some joy in Harry and Neville.  

It was after Harry was born and Lily buried her parents that she finally got a potion right for the first time. Becoming an Animagus was harder than she thought, and doing it while pregnant was impossible. It broke her heart to watch Remus shy away from her in the days after the full moon, apologizing to Lily for scaring her. Remus didn’t scare her, not at all.

But finally, after another stirring session with Harry tucked in the crook of her arm, Lily got the Wolfsbane Potion right. The potion would glow in moonlight (regardless of its phase) if it was made properly. To Lily’s delight, the full moon was only two nights away.

That night she left Harry with Alice and Frank, and went with the Marauders to the trees. Sirius and James and Peter transformed immediately, and Lily waited and watched as Remus paced.

“You should go, Lily.”

“Don’t be stupid, I can just Apparate away. Go on, take it.”

Not seven minutes after Remus drank the potion, the moon came out, and Lily watched in horror as her friend’s body contorted and shifted, falling to the ground with a howl. Sirius and James immediately got in front of her, ready to do…something.

But when Remus rose a moment later, fully a wolf, there was something in his eyes. Sirius sniffed him, and then barked happily. Remus came over to Lily, James still flanking him, but Remus didn’t attack her. Instead, he pushed his head against her knee, looking up at her with gratitude in his eyes, eyes that were human in that furry face.

James became human again in an instant. “Lils, you did it!” He held her close and buried his face in her hair. “You fucking splendid girl!”

Lily spent the rest of the night with the Marauders, riding on James’ back as they roamed the fields (she spent two full minutes glaring at Sirius, forbidding any jokes). It was dawn when they made their way back into Godric’s Hollow. The Longbottoms were asleep when Lily crept in and took Harry from his crib, leaving a note so they wouldn’t worry. Harry was four months old, and quietly awake as Lily sat down beside the stag, the rat, the dog, and the wolf.

Remus was clearly uneasy, but Sirius was unafraid, snuffling over Harry until the baby laughed. James bent his head close to Lily, and nodded.

Remus crept closer, sniffing cautiously. Harry watched him intently, reaching out tiny hands to touch the wolf’s nose. Remus let the baby do it, and then he rubbed his head against Harry’s hold.

It was a beautiful morning, and soon the sun was up and they were all sitting as humans in the garden. Harry insisted that Remus hold him, and Remus did, shaking all over.

“It worked, Lily,” he whispered. “It really, truly worked! I was myself the entire time!”

That was the best day, because they all stayed over, and James cooked an enormous breakfast and Sirius gave Harry dog rides. And Frank and Alice were there too with Neville, and there was a moment where Lily really believed that they could win, prophecy or no prophecy.

Because Lily didn’t want to think about the prophecy. Thinking about the prophecy, about why they lived in Godric’s Hollow, why Alice and Frank were still in danger…Lily had never been one to believe in prophecy. But the fact was that Voldemort did, so they had to make the best of it.

That grew harder as the war grew even worse. Muggleborns were being tracked through registries, and there were deaths daily. Marlene’s death was the worst; Lily cried and hugged Harry to her. They stopped going outside, they stopped having as many visitors. Lily managed to get Wolfsbane to Remus once a month, and she and James clung to each other and to Harry, and swore they would be happy again.

That was a week before Halloween.

And on Halloween night, Lily heard the door break down, heard James yelling, and saw a green flash. She couldn’t stop screaming, couldn’t get away; Apparition was impossible under the Fidelius Charm.

She held Harry to her until Voldemort came into the nursery, and then she put Harry in his crib and stood in front of him.

Lily barely heard Voldemort telling her to step aside. Survive? Without James, without Harry? No. All she could do was plead for mercy, beg for her baby’s life when she knew it was impossible to save him, other than by staying still, giving him a few more seconds.

Lily Evans Potter’s last thought was its own kind of denial, the desperate hope of a mother who wanted her baby to live.

_At least Harry will still be with people who love him._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lily is one of my favourite women in Harry Potter, because she got to be so strong and fierce at 21 that she could face Voldemort for a fourth time (born to those who have thrice defied him) with nothing but her love for her baby, and win. She freaking won!  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	20. Life of A King (Ron Weasley)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron Weasley gets all he deserves.

Ron never got used to being famous.

Harry did, eventually, as they got older. It helped that Ginny worked at the Daily Prophet—“I give her exclusives all the time, now go away!” And as Harry did more things that people recognized him for—people knowing him for his Auror work, or his teaching—he got more comfortable. Being recognized as ‘Professor Potter’ by students’ younger siblings made his day.

But Ron felt awkward. Being stared at wasn’t really that fun after all, and it was particularly annoying when he was out with his children. One reporter actually snuck a picture of Rosie having a tantrum by the fruit when she was only five. Ron raised hell at the Daily Prophet, but that prompted more stares.

The rule was changed, so that pictures of children couldn’t be published without their guardians’ permission, so that was worth it.

Eventually Ron learnt to have fun with it, and he made a game of counting how many people were staring at him—there were always more when he was with Hermione, or when he was at the shop, but the most were with Harry. But he never quite got used to it, and the best days were when no one stared at all.

Losing Fred was the most frightening thing Ron had ever experienced. Even as Bill, then Charlie, and finally Percy had left, there was an equilibrium among his siblings. They knew their places, knew their habits. Now they were adrift, learning to be six instead of seven. Ron knew that it wouldn’t take much for them to split up, but thankfully they learned better. They were all adults now, and they shared some fundamental experiences; they understood each other better now. Percy’s outburst after Jamie Potter was born only solidified what they didn’t know how to say. Finally it felt like he was a brother, not only a younger or older brother. It shouldn’t have taken this loss to accomplish this, but at least something good came out of it.

Hermione started to teach Ron about Muggle things properly soon after they started dating. At first Ron didn’t see the point; they had fun at the hotels every year, but they were living in the magical community. Dad knew enough, certainly?

But Hermione insisted, and Ron wanted to make her happy, so he started to learn. To his surprise, he absolutely loved learning about all of it, but not in the way that his dad did. It was just fun to learn about Muggle entertainment (Hermione bought him an iPod one year), and watching illusion shows was _excellent._ His favourite thing came when he started playing chess with Muggles (playing without sentient pieces was _fascinating_ ), and he soon had a group of friends, perfect for when Hermione met with her knitting group. It was nice to make friends outside of the wizarding world, because they didn’t stare at him, they didn’t know his story (or thought they knew). They knew he was Ron and he had two kids and an amazing wife, and he was damn scary good at chess and liked to laugh.

Being a father the second time was intimidating. Ron knew that he didn’t want his child to feel as he once did, that he needed to outdo them all in order to be worth anything. He loved Rosie so dearly though, and all his family, and could he love another child the same way?

But holding Hugo in his arms taught him how stupid that was. His little son was beautiful, and Ron loved him and Rosie and Hermione with all his being, just as he loved his family with all his being.

No wonder love was the most powerful magic. It could make your body contain multitudes.

Of his nieces and nephews, Ron got along best with Freddie. It was mostly for good reasons—they both loved chess, they had no problem wearing hideously clashing outfits, and Freddie’s brand of humour was just like Ron’s. But Freddie also had that same burning, resentful anger Ron tried so hard to work through, so Ron was the only one who could get through to Freddie when things were truly bad. He helped the boy learn how to let go of his anger more easily, talking him through flying high and shouting in a lonely spot (or into a charmed pillow). In return, Freddie told Ron about his anxiety first, even before George and Angelina. Ron ached for his nephew, but he was so proud that Freddie was working so hard to take care of himself. To show his support, he went to a therapist

Ron never got over his habit of swearing. He tried for a while when Rosie was a baby, but by the time she was two he was right back to effing and jeffing. Hermione gave up at last, and they taught their daughter that those words were for grownups, not for little girls.

Ron really should have expected to hear Rosie swearing at the top of her lungs at 3 AM on her seventeenth birthday, but he was surprised all the same.

But in that moment, with Hugo yelling down the hall and Hermione lying awake and glaring at the ceiling muttering “she’s your bloody daughter,” with the party later on, and it was the whole clan so the party would go late into the night with everyone falling asleep in strange places…

In that moment, Ron knew that if the Mirror of Erised was put in front of him, he would think it was a normal mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Ron Weasley deeply and purely, and I am very proud of him as a person. (He was the only damn one who was in character during the play that shall not be named).   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	21. Being Ginny Potter (Ginny Weasley Potter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny got her childhood dream, and it's better than she ever imagined.   
> To her surprise, she's a large part of her own happiness.

Ginny changes her hair at least three times a year when she’s finished playing Quidditch. When she played it was always up in a ponytail, but when she left the air she cut it short for the first time in her life. She loved the lack of weight, but let it grow back by the time her first son was born. She puts it up, wears it down, gives it layers, even dyes the ends pink once, when she was really missing Tonks.

It’s one of her ways of holding onto herself. When she looked at pictures of her mother, she always looked the same; perhaps a little larger, a little more tired, but always the same face, the same hair.

Ginny wants to look at pictures of her and her children (and she and Harry take dozens; they fill three family albums before James go to Hogwarts) and remember who she was then too.

Ginny loves trying new things without too much pressure. She tries new hobbies like gardening and singing, learns French from Fleur and Arabic from Rolf, and she even has a disastrous encounter with riding.

“You’re supposed to get back on the horse, love,” Harry said after her first fall.

“I’m never getting on that beast again,” Ginny answered. She never did.

Ginny spends a lot of time with the kids at family gatherings. She remembers being the youngest, remembers not being taken seriously. She will listen just as intently to three year old Lucy’s story about a pixie as she does when Nicky talks about the finer points of curse-breaking at the age of fourteen.

Ginny’s healing starts and stops. She recovers from the last year at Hogwarts more quickly (because it was over and Harry was here and they were building dreams together), but her possession haunts her for years. It takes until her daughter (the youngest girl in the family) is thirteen for her to really breathe. She never fully stops looking around before she goes to sleep, checking on everyone sleeping in the house.

Ginny dreamt for a long time about being Mrs. Potter, even before she met Harry Potter. But being Mrs. Potter is better than she could ever dream, because Harry loves her so well and she loves him dearly, and the dreams they build together with their children are everything she could hope for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ginny is amazing, and that is all :)   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	22. Mothering (Molly Weasley I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly has always been a mother first, but a mother can be many things.

Molly Weasley wanted a daughter, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want her sons.

Each pregnancy brought the possibility of a daughter, and each one gave her a wonderful child, all so different. She and Arthur held hands, looked at their dwindling money, and agreed to more children.

Ginny wasn’t their last on purpose. Molly’s pregnancies were easy, and with every child their house grew a little brighter, a little noisier, and she and Arthur thrived on the chaos.

But Ginny was born the year the war got so awful, the year Fabian and Gideon died. Arthur wanted to send them all out of the country, but Molly refused. As grief-stricken as she was, she belonged in their house. Her children were safe, and Arthur would be okay. She hoped.

And then Voldemort was defeated, and the world became bright again. She let the children run around outside, and she told them happy stories about their fallen uncles. She and Arthur were finished having children, and soon Bill was off to Hogwarts and the house was a little quieter.

But there were times when Molly had a quiet moment and she thought about the war. The war that took her brothers was over, but there were still so many people suffering.

And where on earth was little Harry Potter? That plagued her thoughts for many years. There was no sign of him in wizarding society (and anyone who’d taken in the Boy-Who-Lived couldn’t have kept it a secret), so where was the child? He and Ron were about the same age, and though Molly had never met Lily Potter, she’d met James when Fabian hosted some sort of meeting at his house. He and Arthur worked together once, and he showed her a picture of his tiny son and asked after her children. It hurt Molly deeply that she didn’t know where the little boy was. All she could do was hope he was happy.

But the years went on and her children were challenging and wonderful and all so different but she loved them all, and only worried about money for their sakes. She was happy with her giant vegetable garden and the chickens and enormous sacks of flour she bought in the village, happy to spend most of her day trying to make their thin budget stretch.

Then the year Ron went to Hogwarts (and Molly was trying so hard not to cry, because Charlie was away now too, like Bill, and she would only have Ginny left at home while her other boys went to school)…and she noticed a little boy on the platform, pushing a trolley with an owl, and looking rather desperate.

He looked like he hadn’t had a square meal in years and…and why was he all alone? But Molly swallowed her concern and told him how to get onto the platform. When he was out of sight, she looked at Ron.

“Ron, will you look out for that boy?”

“Sure, Mum.”

And then she found out that he was Harry Potter, and she wanted to scream as she and Ginny returned to the Burrow. She felt like she’d failed somehow, but what could she have done? How could she have saved Harry?

Well, he was in her life now, if Ron’s full letters were anything to judge. So Molly now had seven sons and one daughter, and she was happy. And they could have Harry to come and stay in the summer, certainly—her garden would be ready, there’d be plenty of chickens and eggs…she could take care of the boy for the summer.

But Dumbledore said no, and Molly lost her temper.

“Why not?! Those people hate him; the first time I saw him I thought he was going to fall over dead! And he and Ron are great friends!”

“I appreciate your concern, Molly. But Harry will be fine at his aunt and uncle’s home. It’s only for the summer. Perhaps he could come and visit the week before he returns to school?”

And Molly agreed—unwilling, suspicious—but she agreed.  

Then her reckless sons took the car and rescued Harry from the Dursleys, and it took all of Arthur’s patience to persuade her not to go there immediately and take Harry back. “Dumbledore must know what he’s doing,”

What could she do? Dumbledore was the only person they could trust, after all—Fudge was the reason Arthur wasn’t paid properly, the reason that they couldn’t give their children everything. And there was corruption running through their society, because the guilty were found innocent, and they walked at will.

No, though it broke her heart, Molly knew that she had to back off, because Dumbledore knew what he was doing.

(She wasn’t exactly wrong about that, but she didn’t understand his motives until years later).

She still sent Harry presents and made him jumpers and let him stay whenever she possibly could. Sirius Black being both innocent and someone that Harry loved threw her for a loop, but after some head butting they realized that they were fighting for the same purpose—Harry’s happiness.

“Someone needs to care about that,” Sirius growled, and Molly agreed.

But oh, the war was coming back, and oh, Molly knew her children would insist on fighting. She wanted to plead with them to leave, to flee the country together, but she knew they wouldn’t. Just like she hadn’t, all those years ago.

It still broke her heart to see her teenage children (blood and heart) and her not-real-grownups-yet sons go off to war. It was even harder to put her daughter on the Hogwarts Express, knowing what she was going back to at Hogwarts, with no brothers to protect her.

Molly saw very little of her children that year. Charlie was still in Romania, the twins were on the run, Percy was at the Ministry (Arthur caught glimpses of him every once in a while), and no one knew where Ron was. Ginny wrote a few letters, and Bill came by every few weeks, but that was it. Molly kept her head down and cooked, sending food to the various safe houses. She would leave picnic baskets of food near the crossroads of Ottery St. Catchpole, and they’d be gone before she turned her back.

She wanted to fight, but it wasn’t going to work. Arthur had to walk into the Ministry every single day, and that would put him at risk. No, she had to be the dutiful housewife and mother, subject to random interrogations (they never hurt her, no one thought she was dangerous). There would be a home for her children to come back to, and in the mean time she could make sweaters and send baskets of food and clothes to those in hiding. It had to be enough.

Then there was a moment when all her family was in the same country (Charlie was on his way with reinforcements), and most of them were in the castle. Molly hugged Percy as hard as she could, and kissed her sons and daughter goodbye. Then she rolled up her sleeves. It was time to put her ‘O’ in Defense Against the Dark Arts to good use at last.

It wasn’t enough to stop the fatalities, though. There were so many dead in the Hall that it took Molly’s breath away. There were so many children there, because they were all children no matter if they were of age, and there were adults that still look too young…

And then Molly saw bright red hair and a too-pale, too-still body. She sank to her knees beside her son, her Freddie, and wished that she wouldn’t draw another breath.

Molly Weasley knew grief, knew what it felt like to lose loved ones. But she’d never lost a child. All she could think of was the clock at home. Would Fred’s spoon fall off now? Or would it be stuck at ‘mortal peril’ forever?

Arthur was beside her, and her sons and daughter were with her, and Molly took a difficult breath. She had living children, and they would have the rest of their lives to grieve Freddie. She reached across Fred’s body and took George’s hands. Her son looked back at her with empty eyes.

“What are we going to do, Mum?”

“We’re going to survive,” Molly answered. “We’ll fight, and we will protect each other.”

Ginny, Ron, Percy, and Bill put their hands on top, and Arthur joined them.

It took a moment to realize that no, not all of her children were there. Ever since Ron was eleven, it was odd to see him without Harry and Hermione. A quick glance showed her that Hermione was crouched beside Remus and Tonks (oh _god,_ why them too?), but Harry was nowhere to be seen.

Molly shivered. She didn’t know it then, but Harry was at the door, glancing at them just once before moving to the forest.

She did know him to be dead an hour later, and every scream from her children took her breath away. She couldn’t even cry yet for her dark haired child, for Harry who looked so small in Hagrid’s arms.

And then Charlie came with reinforcements, and Neville Longbottom was so, _so_ brave, and they were all fighting for their lives and Molly lost track of everyone—

And then she saw Ginny, duelling Bellatrix with Luna and Hermione—

And Molly decided that it was past time for her to show exactly how dangerous she was.

_“NOT MY DAUGHTER YOU BITCH!”_

Molly didn’t want to use an Unforgiveable, because there was a faster way to kill Bellatrix. She ignored the woman’s ramblings, focused on watching her wand movement, because everyone had a weakpoint in their wandwork.

And there it was, and Molly unleashed a spell she’d never used before— _Digitalum._

It caused an instantaneous, fatal heart attack, and Bellatrix dropped, and then Voldemort turned on her, and Molly braced herself, ready to cast it again—

And then Harry was there, and soon Voldemort dropped as well, and Molly saw her children all together again—except for Fred, and that hole would never be filled, but the war was over, and now they could try to heal.

Molly had a hard time parenting her veteran children; they’d all known war and pain and death. Even Bill, so unflappable normally, spent a week at the Burrow, and he just shook. It was hard to reach out to her children in their pain when it felt like she was drowning in her own grief, as Fred’s absence sunk in slow and painful.

But motherhood is never easy, and Molly knew that she had to learn. If she didn’t, she would lose her children, and then she would lose herself.

So she kept knitting, she kept cooking, and she listened to her children, seeking them out when they hid from her. She spent one long night at Grimmauld Place, Ron under one arm and Harry under the other, keeping watch over them as they slept, promising that she would wake them the instant a nightmare began. By dawn she’d shaken them both awake more than ten times. She also spent a week in Romania, helping to turn the Dragon Reserve into a slightly more habitable place, letting Charlie work through his grief.

And the next September she saw her daughters off to Hogwarts. Ginny was still pale and Hermione seemed uncertain without the boys, but they needed to close that chapter in their lives, and Molly supported them wholeheartedly. She wrote three times a week to them both, whether they replied or not.

By October, the Ministry was in some kind of order, and in a place to begin distributing reparations. No money could heal the wounds of the war, nothing could change the past. But when she and Arthur read the amount they were granted—more money than Molly had ever seen in her life—they decided to accept it. They divided it nine ways, and gave Fred’s share to the women’s shelter Dean Thomas and Parvati were building. George insisted the business didn’t need it. “Anyways, Fred would love that,” he said. “He always liked people with ideas to make the world smile.”

And time went on, and the Burrow got new paint and several more bedrooms, blossoming up and outwards like it was recovering from starvation. Molly had new robes and Arthur got a new wand, and they went out to dinner together twice a week.

They were coming home from one of those dinners when they found out Fleur was expecting, and Molly was delighted. Somehow the possibility of grandchildren, of a _future_ for her family wasn’t real until that moment, until she saw Fleur’s shining eyes.

Molly had had seven children in ten years; she knew all about rapid change. But the change from being the mother-in-law of one woman to being the grandmother of twenty children and having three new daughters in eight years was a huge upheaval. But it was a happy upheaval.

All of her grandchildren had different lives, and different ways to love and to live and to be themselves, and it was tricky at first (even for a mother who knew she had sons who weren’t all ‘straight as a broomstick’). But Molly sorted out the trickiness on her own, and she supported her children (blood and heart), so proud when they managed to do the right thing first try, but comforting when they made mistakes, showing them how they could fix the problems.

Being a grandmother and watching her children be parents, watching them heal and help the future be better, all the struggles and all the pain worth it. Like she’d done something worthwhile as a mother, because she’d created good parents.

(Even if eight of those grandchildren were dragons).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Molly is a wonderful mom, even when she makes mistakes, because she's willing to forgive her children and try to understand them, so they in turn forgive her.   
> In other news, I'm going to take a two week break from posting fanfiction. If you're interested in all the backstory (nothing serious, it's just logistics), you'll see an explanation (and plan) on my tumblr, @illuminating-dragons. See you soon!  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	23. Sticking to It (Draco Malfoy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's healing takes a long time to stick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild sexual content, FYI.

Draco Malfoy finds himself nearly friendless after the war. The living Death Eaters despise him as a weakling ‘Legacy’; the light side hate him for everything he did.

Harry Potter and his friends stepped up, and frankly them and Astoria are the reasons he’s alive.

But the only friendship that survived the war was with Gregory Goyle.

Goyle went to prison; he’d committed too many tortures, too much pain to stay out. But Draco visits him and tries to ignore the calls and taunts down the hallway. They talk at a level they never did before, equals in grief if nothing else, and many of the elements Draco brings into his prison system come from Goyle—the elements Draco thinks will save his friend.

And when the prison is built and Goyle transfers, it’s the sight of his friend walking with lively eyes that soothes Draco the most.

Draco finds it hard to be physically affectionate with Scorpius at first. He never received that from his father, and when his mother tried Lucius would snap at her for coddling him. But Astoria doesn’t let that go on more than a few months into Scorpius’ life. She insists that Draco do an equal amount of feedings, and after his first terror—what if he held his son wrong, what if he choked, what if Scorpius wouldn’t eat when it was his Da—Draco treasured those moments above all else.

Food becomes something that ties the two of them together. Draco takes everything he learned about cooking and baking from Harry and teaches it to Scorpius. Hermione recommends a few libraries, and they make a monthly expedition from the time that Scorpius is three. They pick out cookbooks of all kinds (Scorpius tends to choose by colour, which makes for interesting meals), and they go home and make food together. When Draco knows he’s going to have a hard day at work—parole hearing, new prisoner, journalists visiting—he makes sure to bring plenty of whatever sweet thing he and his son made together that week.

By the time Scorpius is five, Draco starts looking for extra help at the prison, because he doesn’t want to be there all day. His first choice is Goyle, who’s greatly improved, and he also recruits Penelope Clearwater, who manages to face the people who tortured and killed people like her with a grace and wisdom far beyond her years. They share Draco’s vision, and they challenge him, pushing ideas further until they’re sure they’ve got the best they can do.

This gives Draco the time to pick his son up from nursery school and take him to the park, or to play dates with Albus Potter and Rose Granger-Weasley. Scorpius likes most of the Weasley clan, but Al and Rosie are his favourites, and Draco is more than willing to sit with his former enemies (and now friends?) and watch their children play together.

It also gives Draco more time to spend with his wife, particularly when Albus grows up and goes to school. Astoria works late some evenings, but whenever she’s free and their son is asleep…well.

They play.

Draco had never heard of BDSM before Astoria, and when she told him that she was a Domme, he thought she was calling herself stupid. But he was intrigued, and they tried it out. It took a while for Draco to get the point through his head that this wasn’t about punishment for his crimes, nor did it mean that Astoria didn’t adore him. They fell into a pattern eventually, and they don’t scene every time they have sex, but Draco really, _really_ enjoys his wife being in charge, taking care of him, making him feel like he is worthy of being happy.

Outside their bedroom, it takes a long time for Draco to truly believe that he could stay changed. His heart was in the effort, but he had been a terrible creature for most of his life. Could he ever unlearn all those habits, and make new ones stick?

But he learns day by day that he can make them stick, because he has more strength than he ever imagined, he’s more capable of love than he ever thought, and he has people willing to help him hold things together as strong as that strange silver tape Arthur Weasley gave him for his 40th birthday.

“I thought you might have something you needed to hold together,” he said. “It actually works better than magic sometimes.”

The moment Astoria and Scorpius were asleep, Draco carefully took out the picture from that night (taken by Lou Delacour), of everyone at the party, laughing and joking together.

Draco cut thin strips of the tape, and attached the picture to a larger piece. Then he tucked it into his pouch that he took to work with him every day. It held his wedding ring, the keys to the prison, and a small picture of Vincent Crabbe.

And now it held his family, people who were really his family, and it wouldn’t get ruined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally didn't post a chapter yesterday that I'd already posted weeks ago. What are you talking about? Thank you annegirlblythe for pointing that out in the nicest way possible!  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


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